


Making a Door Less Open

by vampiredio



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Good Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, No abuse, Not RPF, Pining, Religious Guilt, Slow Burn, tommy and wilbur are never exiled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampiredio/pseuds/vampiredio
Summary: Schlatt and Quackity had gotten married for diplomatic purposes, this much is true, but on some days they walk dangerously close to the line between real and pretend. They hardly know each other as anything more than work acquaintances and political partners, yet there is a need that suddenly begins building within them to bridge that gap and become something more.Inspired by the album "Making a Door Less Open" from Car Seat Headrest.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 275
Kudos: 933





	1. Weightlifters

**Author's Note:**

> Standard procedure; this is content that lives solely within the fictional universe of the SMP and has no bearings or attachments to the real people who play these characters.
> 
> I know I said I wasn't sure when I'd sit down and write anything concrete for this idea, but I was possessed by the need to make it a reality. To preface: this is an alternate universe in which Schlatt doesn't exile Tommy and Wilbur. They have their differences but the extreme actions he took in the canon world of the SMP are null and void here because I crave a less unhinged man who, although a bit rough on the outside, has the capacity to care for the people around him. L'Manberg is also more of a modern city within its established territory than what it is in the SMP, more modern technology etc. I'm not sure where I'll draw the line between the "real world" and the limitations of the SMP so we'll just cross that bridge when we get there.

Quackity thumbs at the slightly oversized wedding band on his ring finger before slipping it off and lightly tossing it into the top drawer of his desk, it collides against the expensive wood with a small metallic thunk. He swiftly closes the bureau and returns to the large stack of paperwork sitting before him. Evening has slowly descended upon the office; Tubbo and Fundy have long since left for the day, Schlatt is most likely still drinking in his large private workspace across the hall. Vice Presidential duties aren’t particularly interesting, at least he doesn’t find them to be, especially since the late work nights cause him to occasionally run into his boss and “husband.” 

They had gotten married for diplomatic purposes, to improve their public image and social standing with voters, and it had worked like a charm. But now he’s stuck partnered, bound by piles of legal documents, to a man who he hardly even considers more than an acquaintance. He remembers standing tense at the altar and pretending to be madly in love, pretending to tenderly hold the ram’s large hands, pretending to enjoy the single kiss they momentarily shared. Schlatt is, for lack of a better word, a real asshole. At least that’s how Quackity sees him, he’s nothing more than a businessman and politician; he certainly isn’t his husband. 

The door to his office opens and slams the wall behind it, bits of drywall and dust settle to the ground below the impact zone, he had just patched an identical hole yesterday. Q nearly jumps out of his skin from the sudden loud noise that pulls him from the depths of his work, he lets out a heavy frustrated sigh.

“What the fuck are you doing Schlatt? I’m workin’ here.”

The President stands with one arm leaned against the doorway, he holds a mostly empty bottle of bourbon in the other hand. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke wafts over to where Quackity sits at his desk, it reeks. 

“Anything to say for yourself? Or are you just gonna stand there and bother me like an asshole?” He sets his pen down.

“Let’s fuck.” 

Schlatt’s words are slurred and barely recognizable; surely he’s imagined the proposal, surely his boss isn’t attempting to lay him right now. 

“What the hell did you just say?”

“I said let’s fuck.” He repeats himself, eyes burning holes through the Vice President’s skull.

A tense silence fills the room for a moment; Quackity laughs so hard it wracks his tired body, until there are tears streaming down his face, this is the funniest goddamn thing that’s ever happened to him he reckons. In what world does your pretend husband and boss storm into your office at midnight and demand you fuck? Apparently this one, and it drives him up the wall with just how ridiculous the image before him is. Schlatt looks almost… what’s that word again? He can’t place it at first, but he imagines this is what disappointment would look like on his sharp features.

He takes a moment to compose himself, “you’re not even going to remember this in the morning. Go the fuck to bed Schlatt.” He stands from his desk and ushers the ram out of the doorway down the hall towards his own room. The absolutely plastered man stumbles over his own feet and slumps down the wall to a sitting position, Q leans over and places a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, it’s like ten steps away, and then I can go home and forget about this shit.” 

“We were s’posed to share that room y’know.” Schlatt takes the other man’s tie in his hand and absentmindedly fidgets with the silky blue fabric.

“Yeah, right.” He rolls his eyes at the idea, “I’d rather die than share a bed with your alcoholic ass.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he realizes just how harsh they might be. His boss lets go of his tie and meets his eyes, if Quackity didn’t know any better he’d say he looked sad. 

After a moment of rest the ram drunkenly pushes himself to his feet and manages to make his way to his room, Q thanks God their encounter is finally over. He lets out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding with a huff, a bead of sweat drips down his forehead; was he really that nervous? These had become nightly occurrences at this point, not the proposal of sex, but the randomly storming into his office and bothering him. He’d patched at least three other identical holes from where the large man continuously slammed the door handle through the drywall. It was not a routine he was fond of; every morning Schlatt would completely forget about it, but Quackity surmised it was more likely he was feigning ignorance out of embarrassment. 

He makes a pact with himself before packing up his things and heading home for the night; he’ll tell his boss to stop barging into his goddamn office at midnight and saying weird shit.


	2. Can't Cool Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking forward to writing more characters into this story, I hope you're all excited to see them too >:3c

Quackity shuffles up the stairs to his apartment, he has to practically drag his tired body to the door. The lock gives him trouble for a handful of frustrating seconds before it finally gives way beneath his desperation, he flicks the lights on and tosses his keys and jacket onto the table. His place is nothing particularly special, but it’s the only sanctuary away from the daily stresses of work and endless politics. The building itself sits in a historic part of town, it’s all worn red brick covered in various vines and foliage that snake their way up the side. The plant life fights to make their home against the unforgiving and unmoving façade of the apartment complex with a range of mixed success and failure. Q lives on the top floor, the elevator in the lobby is only for show at this point since he can’t remember the last time it actually worked. Every morning he runs down the stairs in a hurry and every night he heaves himself back up the countless flights in a sleepy haze. The moment his foot makes contact with the first step he begins thinking about how he wishes he was at the top, the longer he thinks about time passing the slower it goes, and in a matter of minutes he’s suddenly at his door with his keys in the lock. Time is funny that way, it seems to slip through his fingers no matter how much he thinks about it, no matter how much he tries to live in the present. 

Not bothering to grab anything to eat before bed he clumsily undoes his tie and sheds the rest of his clothing before climbing into the soft comfort of his old mattress. It’s probably time to flip it over, or maybe call it quits and buy a new one altogether, but that seems like a lot of work all things considered. Having to carry it up twenty flights of stairs is not exactly his ideal pastime and he has no idea who he would ask to help him with it, probably Karl. Though If he asked Karl then surely Sapnap would also tag along, and if Sapnap was tagging along then the odds of George and Dream showing up also skyrockets; but he didn’t need that much help, they would probably end up goofing around for hours before even attempting to get any work done. By the time they realize it’s already late they no longer want to tackle the task at hand, and then his mattress will sit in the lobby of his apartment building for a month, every night he’ll pass it and pretend it isn’t there. 

Quackity shakes his head and rolls over.

Imagining the whole ordeal was only making him more stressed before he’d even thought of buying a new mattress. He pulls his blankets up over his shoulders and forces his eyes closed, the first thing he sees is Schlatt standing in his office doorway with his tailored jacket slipping off his broad shoulders. Q’s eyes practically shoot open in a moment of panic, or was it arousal? He isn’t sure, but he pushes the thought to the back of his head and sighs in frustration, being betrayed by your own mind is truly the worst. He eventually falls into a restless and fitful sleep, every couple of hours he wakes up to his body sweating profusely under the sheets. 

He’s sitting in a cocktail lounge. The room is hazy, the lighting low, he’s holding a drink but he doesn’t remember ordering it. In fact, he doesn’t remember how he got here at all. 

“You look out of it sweetheart, you must already be pretty fucked up, huh?” A familiar voice calls from next to him.

He turns to look at the ram who has materialized by his side, he wears an expensive looking tailored suit and waistcoat. A few pieces of gold jewelry dangle from his floppy ears, his horns appear to have been polished recently as they reflect the dim incandescent bulbs behind the bar. Quackity follows the curl of keratin from the top of his head where they sit buried in his slicked back hair to the base of his jaw; he wears them like a status symbol. Schlatt’s scruff adorns his face in an almost comical way, at first Q hated it but he’s somehow grown fond of the neatly trimmed facial hair. His mouth is curled up into a slight smile, a couple sharp teeth peak out of his toothy grin.

“C’mon princess, you good?” He snaps his fingers in front of Quackity who pulls himself back to reality.

“Where are we? I… I don’t remember coming in here.” He swivels in the bar stool to look around and realizes he doesn’t recognize any of the faces that crowd the room. 

Schlatt stands from his chair and offers a hand, he hesitantly takes it and allows himself to be pulled through the bar to a small table pushed against one of the back walls. He suddenly realizes how underdressed he is for the seemingly expensive lounge and grimaces. 

“What’s the matter now?” His boss takes a seat on the plush leather corner sofa and pats the space next to him. 

Q sits a fair distance away and balls his fists on top of his slacks. “I’m way underdressed for this place. It’s too fancy for me, I think people are staring.” A couple of heads turn towards him as he speaks.

“Ignore them, I think you look fine.” Schlatt reaches an arm around Q’s shoulders and pulls him against his side, the contact is unfamiliar but not necessarily unwelcome. The warmth between their bodies sends a slight shiver down his spine, he’s never been this close to another man before and especially not to his boss. “Relax, I don’t bite.” He flashes those sharp teeth again in a playful grin.

Quackity sheepishly rubs the back of his neck and attempts to put a little bit of space between them but Schlatt has his arm wrapped firmly around his waist now, he moves his free hand to the inside of Q’s thigh and gives it a squeeze. He has to consciously hold back the yelp that nearly escapes his lips, “what the fuck are you doing right now?” He yells in a hushed whisper.

Schlatt’s eyes pierce through him. “Don’t you ever think about me the way I think about you?”

He wakes with a start to morning light filtering in through his partially open blinds. His chest heaves under the sheets and sweat mats his hair to his forehead. 

_What the fuck kind of nightmare was that?_

He pushes his sleep-heavy body to a sitting position, legs dangling off the edge of the bed and barely reaching the floor beneath him. Never in his years could he have imagined having a sultry dream about Schlatt of all people, the same man who drunkenly busts holes in his office wall day in and day out. 

_It’s normal to have weird dreams about your boss, everyone has weird dreams._

The longer he thinks the more he finds himself returning to the ram’s final question. 

_“Don’t you ever think about me the way I think about you?”_

He shakes the thought from his head and forces himself to stand up, a single glance at the clock informs him that he’s already running late. Quackity hastily gets dressed and throws his tie around his neck, he doesn’t have time to put it on right now. He runs down the stairs like he does every morning and jogs across town to make it to the office on time, though he always ends up being a few minutes late no matter how hard he tries. Schlatt is standing on the steps outside having his morning cigarette, he takes a long drag and leans his head back before exhaling smoke into the crisp air. 

“Late as always I see.” He glances at Quackity climbing the stairs out of the corner of his eye.

“Sorry, slept like shit, woke up late.” He speaks between heavy breaths.

“Hold up a second,” he stamps the cigarette butt out under one foot and approaches Q where he stands at the large doors, “your tie is undone. Are you just that stupid, or was this also a product of running late?”

He lets out an annoyed sigh as Schlatt fiddles with the fabric around his neck. Suddenly he remembers the pact he made with himself the night before, of telling his boss to stop being so goddamn annoying. “Say, Schlatt.” He approaches with caution.

The ram only raises a single eyebrow in response, clearly more focused on fixing the other man’s tie.

“You keep coming into my office at night and making a mess. Can you knock that shit off? It’s gettin’ real annoying.”

He hums, “drunk me makes decisions independently from sober me, can’t help you there bucko.”

“Then make an effort to stay sober for once, I’m sick of it.”

Schlatt’s hands still their fidgeting, “does it really bother you that much?”

“Yeah man, it’s fucking annoying when you keep busting holes in my wall and forcing me to take you to bed.” He doesn’t mention his boss’ proposal of sex, in fact he very deliberately censors that part.

Schlatt lightly pats Quackity’s now fixed tie and admires his work for a moment. “Well you’re just gonna have to deal with it, sweet cheeks. Grab me a cup of coffee before my meeting this morning, I’m still real hungover.” And then he’s on his way.

He lets out an annoyed sigh before following, his phone vibrates against his leg in his pocket; it’s a text from Karl.

 _Got free time tonight?_ It reads.

Quackity thinks through his schedule for a moment. _Maybe. You know how work is._

_Well if you find a second to hangout, Sapnap and I are getting drinks at that shitty little bar near your apartment. You should come vibe with us :]_

It’s a modest proposal but it gives him a sudden burst of energy to get through another day alive. _Sure. I’ll try to get off work early tonight for you fellas._

_Will your boss let you? Our darling Mr. President?_

He chuckles at the reply, his friend always knows how to put him in a good mood. _I’m sure I can worm my way out somehow, I know how to get on his good side by now._ That part is a blatant lie, but he likes to think it’s the truth.

_Alright, See ya tonight QT! <3_

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and grabs the requested cup of coffee. Schlatt looks like he’s all black espressos, straight vodka and filterless cigarettes but he has a weird sweet tooth; the first time Quackity got him coffee-assuming he would want it sugarless-the guy nearly threw a fit. Every day now he drowns the dark liquid in cream and sweetener before bringing it to his boss, who is certainly not a morning person on account of his constant hangovers. 

Tubbo passes him in the hallway and the two stop for a brief chat about various work related issues before continuing to make his way to the meeting room. Schlatt sits at the head of the table thumbing through various papers and stacks of official looking documents, his focus is lasered in on the work before him, brow furrowed in apparent concentration. He sets the cup of coffee down quietly near the other man before turning to leave.

“Wait.” The ram tears his eyes away from the paperwork for a moment to look up at Quackity.

“What now?” 

“Sorry for busting into your office every night lately, I’ll try and uh, get a handle on that I guess…” He trails off, the look on his face resembles something adjacent to embarrassment. 

Q is taken aback for a moment, he can’t remember a single time his boss has actually apologized to him about something, though usually their spats are over more work related things as opposed to crossing interpersonal boundaries.

“I vaguely remember what I said last night, if it’s what I think it was, I owe you an apology. Just forget about whatever drunk me was babbling about.”

“Sure man, consider it forgotten.” He’s almost out the door before he recalls his plans with Karl and Sapnap, “Oh, also, can I leave a little early tonight? I’ve got plans.”

Schlatt doesn’t bother looking up from his work this time. “Yeah, whatever.” 

It’s that easy huh? He just had to ask?


	3. Deadlines (Hostile)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I do Karl and Sapnap justice as I've never written anything for them before;; my apologies if I don't get their characters quite right at first! This is also quite a bit longer than I'm used to for an update which is why this took me a few days, I'm planning on sticking to longer updates (if I'm able to), so look forward to that! <3 As always everyone's kind comments mean the world to me.
> 
> Enjoy!

The day drags on for what feels like an impossibly long time, every moment is just another grain of sand added to an infinite pile. Schlatt’s seemingly genuine apology ricochets through his mind, the guy has never uttered a single authentic word to him in their history of knowing each other. He’s always hidden behind what Quackity can only assume to be a very well crafted façade, a mask he wears at all times. 

There are maybe a handful of occasions he’s gotten a peak behind the curtain at the man who exists underneath the carefully planned charade. He leans back in his chair and kicks his feet up on his desk recalling what very well may be the only time he’s ever seen who Schlatt really is. 

Q was on his way out for the night and happened to pass by his boss’ cracked office door, he had peeked his head in to say a polite goodbye but was caught off guard by the image within. There he stood motionless in the dark room, figure outlined by the gentle moonlight cascading through the large windows behind his desk. Quiet folk music played from an old jukebox in one corner, he said it had been a gift but Quackity suspected he had bought it for himself and refused to admit he had genuine interests outside of politics. Out of the darkness came a low, melodic voice softly singing along to the unfamiliar tune drifting through the air; he felt powerless to move away from this private moment, instead he stood in the doorway and watched as Schlatt took a sip of his wine. He made the mistake of reaching into his pocket for his phone, by God he was going to take this chance to capture the picture before him if only to use it as blackmail later. The second he took the photo he regretted it, a blinding flash of white light escaped from the back camera and illuminated the room, Schlatt spun around to face where Quackity stood motionless in the doorway and hurled his wine glass towards him at full force. He barely managed to scramble his way down the hallway and out the building, he didn’t stop running until he made it all the way home. 

They never talked about it.

He takes his phone out of the top drawer of his desk and scrolls through his photos, the only image saved in his private album is the one from that fateful night. It’s blurry but still clear enough to make out the scene, Schlatt is mid-turn with his wine glass held above his head in preparation to throw it towards the small man standing behind the camera, the space behind him is backlit by the flash. He turns the screen off and lightly tosses it onto his desk, Fundy and Tubbo both lean back in their chairs to make eye contact and then look over at where Quackity sits. 

“You good Big Q?” Tubbo gently calls over to him.

“Oh, yeah, just thinking about nothing.”

Fundy raises an eyebrow, “doesn’t seem like nothing, you never look that focused.” He teases.

“It’s really nothing, I’m just looking forward to going out with some friends later and this day never seems to end.” 

The fox hums in response, he and Tubbo exchange glances once more before returning to their work.

Around noon hunger pains start clawing at his gut, he suddenly remembers the fact he hasn’t eaten in the last twelve hours and drags his body to the break room. Quackity opens the fridge only to come to the conclusion that on his rush out of the apartment he had forgotten to pack a lunch; sighing and closing the door he resigns himself to his empty stomach. Schlatt saunters into the room looking much more tired than he had earlier, his meeting must have finally ended, or maybe they were just taking a slight intermission to stretch their legs and grab a bit of food. He glances in Q’s direction but stays silent, which is an odd thing for him.

“What? Got nothing snarky to say today?” He hops up to sit on the counter.

Schlatt only gives a slight grumble in response before refilling his empty coffee cup. 

“I take that as a no then, guess I’ll just talk outloud to myself. Hmm…” He taps his chin in a joking contemplation. “Say Big Man, why don’t you take me out to eat. I forgot to pack a lunch, and whenever we go out together we get good press.”

The ram leans against the counter opposite him and takes a sip of his drink. He chooses to ignore him entirely, seemingly unamused by Quackity’s attempt at playful banter.

“Why are you so goddamn quiet man? Was your meeting that crazy?”

“Technically it isn’t over yet, so you’re on your own for lunch.” He suddenly speaks up.

Q lets out a feigned whine of defeat, “fuck, guess I’ll have to bribe Tubbo or Fundy into giving me some of theirs.” 

“Good luck with that.” He turns to leave and gives a dismissive wave over his shoulder.

Quackity gets down from his spot on the counter and walks back to the office. Still having at least a good five hours to kill and nothing to eat he makes an attempt at burying himself in his work, a distraction is at bare minimum enough to keep him occupied for a bit. The day continues to pass by agonizingly slowly, the intervals between each time he checks the clock begin to get shorter and shorter until he’s looking up nearly every minute. 

“What are you so antsy for?” Fundy rolls his chair over to Q’s desk.

He shoves the fox back towards his own workspace. “I’m hungry as fuck, I forgot to pack a lunch.”

“Why didn’t you ask us for something?” Tubbo rolls his chair over as well.

Quackity pushes the kid away too. “I dunno, I didn’t wanna mooch off you guys. I’m always doing that.”

“I don’t think we particularly mind, we wouldn’t want you going hungry, right Fundy?” He looks over for approval from his colleague.

“I mean it’s kind of funny if you-” His sentence gets cut off as Tubbo throws a crumpled piece of paper at him, he clears his throat. “I mean, yeah, we don’t care.”

They both dig into their work bags to scrounge up a small meal for their starving coworker, Tubbo has an extra sandwich and Fundy matches his contribution with some spare chips and an apple. It feels more like a kid’s meal than a business lunch, but it’s better than nothing. He graciously takes their combined efforts and allows himself a moment to enjoy the short break.

“Why did you have an extra sandwich Tubbster?” He asks between bites.

“Oh, I pack two usually because I know how often you forget to bring your own food.” 

Q almost wants to cry at how nice the kid is, it’s an unparalleled kindness to any other person he knows. A couple stray tears do end up falling from his face and onto his sandwich, his combined hunger and exhaustion push him into a kind of emotional delirium. 

“Oh my God, are you crying right now because of a sandwich?” Fundy prods.

The three of them laugh at his sudden weakness before eventually returning to their work. The rest of the day seems to pass in a quiet blur, he’s able to set a good pace filing through papers and manages to keep the distractions to a minimum. Five’o’clock finally rolls around as he shelves the last of his paperwork into the cabinet, Q takes the jacket that’s been draped over the back of his chair and grabs his bag before making a beeline for the door; the less of a fuss he makes about leaving early the less of a chance there is that his colleagues will pitch a fit. As he’s about to reach for the handle a stray piece of paper hits the back of his head.

“What the fuck was that for?” He turns to look for the culprit, Fundy and Tubbo both sit with their arms crossed in disapproval. 

“Does Schlatt know you’re leaving before you’re off, or is this another one of your games of hooky?” The fox raises a suspicious eyebrow.

“First of all, none of your goddamn business, second of all, I was given express permission to leave a bit early tonight, so kindly hop off my dick.”

The kid covers his mouth to muffle his laughter as Fundy sits in apparent shock, he takes the opportunity to leave the room for real this time; whenever one of them is off early the other two are sure to gang up on the odd man out. 

He sends a quick text to Karl as he makes his way down the long winding hallways, _I’m heading out now, you two better be there because I’m not waiting around for your sorry asses._

The moment he exits the building cool night air bites at his face with reckless abandon, he wraps his arms around himself and pulls his jacket tight against his shivering body. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a single figure with a cigarette pressed to his lips, the familiar outline is slumped over the railing looking down upon the descending stairs to the bustling street below. Quackity’s body moves on its own, he finds himself wondering why he’s approaching his boss when he could be hurrying to the warm shelter of his friends. His shoes click against the pavement, Schlatt turns his head to look in his direction and gives a subtle nod in greeting.

“You must be cold man, it’s freezing out here.”

“I’m less of a pussy than you.” He flashes a grin before taking another drag of his dart and exhaling once more, “so, what are your exciting plans tonight, the ones that are pulling you away from work early?”

This is an unusual scene, for his boss to make polite conversation with him. Typically they only talk about work or banter back and forth until one of them gets tired. “Oh, just grabbing drinks with some friends. Nothing particularly crazy.”

“You have friends?” 

“What the fuck, yeah, definitely more than you have.”

“Bet.” He taps the butt of his cigarette on the railing, a few stray ashes are carried away with the slight breeze.

Quackity tears his eyes away from the people walking below where they stand and looks over at Schlatt, the warm glow coming from within the building behind shines a wash of light over his broad frame. He rakes his gaze over the ram’s sharp features and settles on his lips, they’re quirked up in a slight smile. A sudden heat washes over his chilled skin and brings a soft pink blush to his face as he recalls the hazy events of his dream, of sitting in the unfamiliar bar, of Schlatt placing a gentle but firm hand on the inside of his thigh, of asking him a single potent question.

_“Don’t you ever think about me the way I think about you?”_

“The fuck are you staring at me for?” His boss looks directly at him, deep auburn eyes burn a hole straight through his motionless body.

“Oh-” he’s quick to break their eye contact. He nervously laughs and rubs the back of his head trying to lighten the mood, “I didn’t mean to, you’re just easy to look at.” _Why the fuck did I say that?_

Schlatt pulls a disgusted face and pretends to gag but Q swears he can see the slightest tinge of red creep up to his cheeks.

“Anyways, I gotta go. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow.” He commands his body to move beneath him and yet there is still a moment in which he considers staying, considers waiting for the ram to say anything to him, considers reaching out and bridging the gap between them. But he doesn’t do any of those things, he descends the stairs in a hurry to escape the awkward tension he had created and walks through the bustle of town.

He likes the city at night when it’s all lit up and full of life, full of people who look both exhausted and energized at the same time. It’s rush hour, everyone is probably in a hurry to get back to their quiet private lives within the four walls they call home. Life is funny that way, there are countless folks who surround him, all leading very distinct and separate lives, yet he’ll never know them as anything more than passing blurred faces melting into a single conglomerate. A single body that swarms L’Manberg like a school of fish, weaving in and out of the cracks and crevices within its territory. The entire time he walks to the bar he’s lost in thought and before he knows it he’s at the door, hand placed against the entrance and ready to feel the warm embrace of the familiar ambience within. It opens with a small squeak, the first thing he hears is his friends calling over to him with energized shouts and cheers. 

“Big Cutie! You made it!” Karl stands from his seat at their booth and waves him over.

Sapnap is lounging next to his friend with a drink already in hand. “Good to see you Q, I feel like we haven’t hung out in way too long, the three of us.”

“It’s definitely been too long.” He walks over to the table they’ve claimed and takes a seat, the soft leather warps beneath his tired body. He’s grateful to have such good friends. 

“Get yourself a drink man, we’ve got this whole pitcher.”

“I’m sure we’ll need more.” Sapnap chimes in.

Karl pours him a generous amount of beer and slides it over to his side of the table. He graciously takes the glass before taking a long drink, the warmth of alcohol slowly fills him up.

“How has your work been Cutie, you don’t talk about it much.” 

“I don’t like boring you guys with that shit, it’s so fucking uninteresting.”

Sapnap crosses his arms in defiance, “we like hearing about your life, even if you think it’s not all that crazy.”

“There’s not much to say, it’s all just business stuff.” He sighs and takes another drink.

“What about your boss, is he still a piece of shit like always?” The brunette leans his elbows on the table and raises his eyebrows in curiosity. 

The other man mimics his actions, “yeah Q, we like hearing about all your work drama.”

“God, yeah, he’s such a piece of work. Y’know he keeps busting holes in my wall at night? He gets super drunk and storms into my office, the door always hits the wall behind it and then I have to patch the drywall.”

“What the fuck,” Karl muses, “that’s so fucked up.”

Sapnap nods in agreement.

A comfortable silence fills the space between them before he finds the courage to speak up. “Have you guys ever, like, had weird dreams about people you work with?” He approaches the topic with caution, he’s fully aware of how strange the question is.

“What kind of weird?” Karl leans back in the booth and raises his glass to his lips.

“Like, sexy weird.”

Sapnap nearly spits his drink out while choking on laughter, his friend smacks him upside the back of the head in a desperate plea to take the query more seriously. “Sorry, sorry, that just startled me is all.” He wipes away the bit of alcohol that escaped from his mouth, “I don’t think it’s weird though, doesn’t everyone have wet dreams about random people?” He says after composing himself.

“Yeah, who was the lucky lady in your dream Cutie?”

Quackity nervously traces around the rim of his glass, he’s never had to say this kind of thing out loud before. “It wasn’t a girl is the thing.”

“Oh, well that’s fine too. Who cares.” Sapnap soothes his rough nerves, Karl gives a reassuring nod in agreement.

“Promise you guys won’t make fun of me?” He looks up from his drink and over at his friends, their kind faces give him all the courage he needs.

“Promise.” They both say at the same time.

“It was, God this is so embarrassing…” He takes a deep breath. “It was about Schlatt.”

Karl and Sapnap both exchange a couple of tense looks clearly hesitant about what to say or how to comfort him. 

“That’s…” The dark haired man starts, unsure of where to take his words.

“Surprising.” Karl finishes his sentence.

“No, I know it’s fucking weird, I’m very aware of how fucking weird it is.” He takes another long drink, the familiar haziness of intoxication starts crawling into him. 

Sapnap speaks up again, “I mean… Did you like it?” 

“I dunno. Maybe? I’ve never thought about the guy like that, and I didn’t think I ever would, but all of a sudden I feel myself staring at him too long or wanting to… to reach out and touch him.”

Both boys grin and exchange another set of looks, this time it appears much more playful. 

“I mean, hey man, if you wanna score yourself a sugar daddy I’m not arguing.” 

Karl lightly punches the other man in the arm before looking back to Quackity. “Don’t pay attention to this joker. Wait, aren’t you guys already like… married? For uh… what’s that word again?”

“Diplomatic purposes.”

“Yeah, yeah, that.”

“Technically. It’s not like we ever mention it, it was a single little thing we did for good press. We hardly even talk to each other beyond political stuff." He looks at the place where a wedding band should sit on his finger, "it’s fake, it’s all an act.”

“You’ve got a ring though don’t you?” Sapnap teases.

Quackity lets out a slight chuckle. “Well yeah, but it just sits in my desk drawer. I don’t think having a ring is what makes a marriage real.”

“What is it then? Love?” Now it’s Karl’s turn to draw his words out, the alcohol among them starts to loosen the mood and relax their nerves. 

The rest of their evening passes in a warm haze; by the time everyone needs to leave they’re stumbling out the door and holding onto each other for dear life, they hang off of one another’s shoulders and grab at free arms for stability. The trio drunkenly stagger down the mostly empty streets, their laughter and shouts fill every bit of empty air in the sleepy city. Eventually Karl and Sapnap wave their goodbyes as they head off towards their own place, they’ve been living together for the last couple of years in a little studio apartment by the water. They had managed to get a good deal on the rent since it was a bit outdated and the landlord didn’t want to refurbish any of the older appliances. Quackity loved going to their house, it was always full of light and laughter, the warmth of their shared space never failed to fill him with hope for a future where he was able to live with someone who he cared about just as deeply. 

Could he care about Schlatt that way? 

He shakes the thought from his mind and leans against a wall for a moment of rest, his spinning head overwhelms his ability to walk reliably. Before he can get a handle on himself a firm hand is placed on his shoulder, he can’t find the energy or coordination to spin and face his apparent attacker, all he does is slur something incomprehensible in retaliation. 

“You’re so fucked up right now holy shit.” The voice is familiar but he can’t quite place it.

He manages to turn around on one foot, nearly falling flat on his ass in the process but the mystery man grabs his arm and keeps him upright. When he’s able to meet the stranger’s gaze he realizes it’s no stranger at all, it’s his boss. 

It’s Schlatt.


	4. Hollywood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have quite a large sculpture project I'm working on at the moment so don't expect much of an update for the next 3-5 days! I'll definitely be able to sit down and write a bit, but the every other day schedule is not something I can keep up right now.
> 
> Love you all <3

“You are so _beyond_ plastered, how the hell are you going to come into work tomorrow? Your hangover is going to kill you.” 

Quackity hears the words but doesn’t necessarily understand them, it all goes in one ear and out the other. “Wha’? Shut up… I’m busy…” He slurs his sentence together, the message he wants to get across falls flat.

Schlatt laughs a guttural laugh, one he’s never heard before. It seems more genuine than the laughter he usually gets from his boss. It blooms in his chest with a warmth he’s never felt, heat rises to his face again in a much more obvious blush that he has no control over, he silently prays to a God he’s never believed in that it’s hidden by his drunken flush. He stares up at the ram until his laughter quells to a quiet chuckle, he wipes a couple of tears that had formed during his hysterics from the corners of his eyes. 

“You’re way funnier when you’re drunk.” He muses. 

“Why’re _you_ walkin’ around this late at night?” Quackity manages to get a full thought out at last. 

“No reason, just needed a breath of fresh air.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Where do you live? I’ll walk you home, don’t want my VP getting shanked.” 

He looks around suddenly realizing he has no fucking idea where he is. “Mmm… I dunno.” 

Schlatt appears to get slightly more annoyed at this predicament, walking him home is one thing but having to find a place for him to stay is clearly another. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “You don’t recognize anything?” The ram takes his phone out of his back pocket, “what’s your address? Or something near your house?”

The name of his apartment building slowly comes back to him. “Greenview High Rise. I think…” 

His boss types something into his phone, most likely looking up his apartment. The light from the dim screen illuminates his face in a low glow; Quackity can’t help but stare, can’t help but imagine leaning in, can’t help but think about kissing him. 

Schlatt gives another disappointed sigh. “Fuckin’ hell, you’ve somehow managed to end up on the opposite side of town, it’s like a thirty minute walk. Why don’t I call you a cab?”

He scrunches his nose in disgust, “I hate cabs. They’re stuffy… and I get carsick.” 

“Okay, okay, we’ll walk.” He puts his hands up in defeat knowing that arguing with the intoxicated man is surely pointless.

Schlatt leads the way as Q trails a short distance behind. Every once in a while he glances over his shoulder to make sure the drunk hasn’t somehow slipped away and gotten lost again. 

“Why’re you walkin’ so fuckin’ faaaaast…” He nearly trips over a small crack in the pavement as he shuffles along the sidewalk.

His boss stops and turns to face him. “You’re truly pathetic, you know that?” 

“Now y’know what it’s like when you come bustin’ down my door every night.” 

He gives a slight grin and links an arm with Quackity to keep him upright. The ram is mostly dragging him along as they walk, but he doesn’t mind having to fight to keep up as long as he gets to feel the warmth between their bodies. He wonders what it would be like to hold the other man’s hand, to press his small palm against his and compare the length of their fingers, to lace them together and appreciate the softness of his skin. What does Schlatt look like under all the layers of business attire and tailored suits? How do his broad shoulders move when they’re uninhibited by fabric? What does his hair look like when it isn’t neatly slicked back, would it fall onto his face after a long night of making love? All these questions and more swarm his still tipsy mind, he feels his heart race beneath his chest. 

Schlatt breaks the silence. “What are you so nervous for? I can practically hear your heartbeat.”

He doesn’t know what to say, his head feels completely empty. He simply focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, on making it home alive and being able to finally collapse into his bed and fall asleep. 

“Nothin’, just tired.” 

He seems to consider this a satisfying answer as they fall back into a semi-comfortable, albeit a bit awkward, silence. 

A thought comes to him as they near his apartment building. “Hey, why aren’t you drunk tonight?” 

“You nearly bit my dick off this morning over me busting a hole in your wall. Figured I’d try and curb the habit a bit.” 

“Is that why you were on a walk?” It seems like he’s pinned the motive down at last, Schlatt only looks dead ahead and says nothing in response. 

He walks him up to the doors of his apartment building and relinquishes his hold around Quackity’s arm. “You’re on your own now, try and not die getting into the elevator.”

Q whines thinking about making his way up twenty flights of stairs, “th’ elevator’s broken. It hasn’t worked in like… months.”

“What floor do you live on?”

“The top one… um.” He does some quick math on his fingers, “twenty.”

Schlatt brings a hand up and drags it over his tired face. “Alright, let’s go princess. I’ll walk you up to your apartment, but you owe me. Got it?”

Quackity’s mind spins around the affectionate pet name, the same one he had heard in his dream. He gives a simple nod in response while his brain reboots under the threat of going haywire. 

They begin to ascend the stairs together but Schlatt very quickly realizes that the smaller man is in no way capable of climbing the numerous flights ahead of them. He begrudgingly leans down and offers his back to the Vice President who graciously climbs on and wraps his arms around the ram’s neck. His boss adjusts him slightly and holds the underside of his legs with a nearly iron grip clearly making an attempt to not drop him. Quackity can feel the lean muscle beneath the thin layers of fabric that separate their bodies, Schlatt is in no way a bulky man but he clearly possesses enough physical strength to carry his inebriated colleague up a formidable amount of steps. Every few flights he takes a break and lets Q down for a moment of rest, his hair slowly comes undone from its carefully placed position and begins falling onto his forehead. He realizes the ram’s hair is wavy, it curls in a few places around his face and gently frames his sharp features in a softness he didn’t know was possible.

Listening to the heavy breaths he takes as he starts to struggle brings a warmth to Quackity’s face; he finds it more attractive than he wants to admit, hearing Schlatt pant beneath him. He slowly feels himself falling in and out of sleep, head rested in the crook of the other man’s neck. Clearly his boss finds this less than amusing as he feigns dropping Q on more than one occasion to rip him from his almost slumber. At some point he yelps believing he’s about to hit the ground beneath him and Schlatt lets out a nearly crazed laugh that echoes through the stairwell, he can’t help but smile even if the joke was at his expense. 

At long last they make it to his apartment, he fumbles with his keys just like he always does. Schlatt nearly rips them from his uncoordinated hands and unlocks the door for him, he’s obviously grown tired of babysitting his drunk colleague. 

“Um, d’you want something to drink?” He hesitantly offers. His boss looks like he might pass out, beads of sweat have fallen from his forehead down to his chin. 

“I’m not coming in, but if you bring me a glass of water I won’t protest.” He slides his jacket off and folds it over one arm.

Quackity nods and retreats into the darkness of his apartment before returning with a drink, he’s sobered up enough to feel bad about dragging the poor man around. “Sorry that you had to take me home, I don’t usually get that fucked up.”

Schlatt takes the glass from him and downs it in mere seconds before handing it back, he turns to leave without so much as a goodbye but as he sets his foot down the first stair he looks back for a moment. “I’ll be sure to call in that favor eventually, princess. if I ever have to drag your sorry ass home again though, I’m killing you.” And then he’s gone.

Q lets the door close behind him with a small thud. He doesn’t bother to turn the lights on, he just tosses his briefcase and coat onto the kitchen table like he does every night, it’s part of his routine at this point. Soft rays of moonlight shine through the windows and coat the room in its quiet glow, his body moves on its own and before he knows it he’s looking out over his balcony waiting to see Schlatt walking in the empty city below. After a handful of minutes a lone figure crosses to the other side of the street, cigarette in hand. 

He shuffles to his room and collapses into bed without doing much else besides kicking his shoes off, he doesn’t have the energy to undress himself. He passes out still feeling the warmth of where he had laid his face against the soft skin of Schlatt’s neck, head pressed into his shoulder. 

Winter’s icy grip slowly sinks into L’Manberg, it’s nearly the holidays in the blink of an eye and suddenly he’s having to think about making plans for Christmas. It’s typically the same thing every year, he visits family and spends New Year’s Eve with a small group of friends. They bar crawl and all end up shit faced sleeping on the couches and floors of whoever’s apartment they stumble upon first. Last year they were closest to his place as the night drew to a close; Karl, Sapnap, Dream, George and Fundy all curled up wherever they could fit. The morning of January 1st always starts slowly, everyone sits around drinking coffee and munching on whatever snacks they can scavenge until they’re eventually ready to drag their hungover bodies back to their own homes.

Quackity continues working out his holiday arrangements in his mind as he forces himself to exit the heated lobby of his apartment building; trying to fight off the biting cold with layers of jackets and sweaters, he tugs his beanie down over his ears and shivers against the wind whipping at his face. The sooner he can make it to the office, the sooner he can warm his freezing body, which is enough to motivate him into a light jog for at least part of the commute. He climbs the stairs taking two at a time and revels in the heat that slowly creeps into his frozen appendages.

Before he can make it to his office Schlatt stops him in the hallway, they hardly run into each after he had to carry a very drunk Q up to his apartment a few weeks ago. Mostly he avoids his boss out of shame, they never really talked about it after the fact and he’s too embarrassed to make an attempt at a real apology. Though, he’s never really requested one either, so he figures it must not be as much of a big deal as he makes it out to be in his head.

“I’m cashing in that favor.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

Quackity tries to just duck his head and walk around him but the ram steps to the middle of the hallway and blocks his path.

“I said I’m cashing in that favor.”

He sighs in defeat. “Okay, what horrible thing do you want me to do?”

“You’re going to be my plus one to some business party I have to go to.”

“Sorry, what?” 

“It’s on New Year’s Eve. Wear something fancy and don’t be late.” 

He shoves the invitation against Quackity’s chest who fumbles to get a grip on it before it falls to the ground. Schlatt walks away after their short conversation and leaves him standing dumbfounded in the hallway, he tucks the small red envelope into his jacket pocket before continuing towards his office. For once he’s the first one here, the workspace is quiet and untouched from the day before, papers and documents litter his cluttered desk. Q drapes his jacket and scarf over the back of his chair before taking a seat and setting his briefcase on the floor. Thinking about the apparent favor he’s been requested to complete he comes to the conclusion he’s going to have to cancel his annual plans with the boys, it’s sad to break the tradition but a small part of him jumps at the idea of spending New Year’s with Schlatt. 

God, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up of it being anything more than a formality but the thought of gently swaying under the low lighting of the dance floor, of sharing drinks and warm conversation, of fulfilling the prophecy of the dream he had nearly a month ago, it plants itself in his mind with a renewed fervor. In the last few weeks there have been a couple small moments of flirtation, at least he thinks that’s what they are; where he’s in the office too late and Schlatt will offer him a drink or invite him for a short chat. It’s happened less than a handful of times since Quackity mostly keeps to himself these days trying not to make the same mistake of forcing his boss to babysit him. 

Last week was one of the few occasions the ram had asked his Vice President to join him, he motioned for Q to take a seat on the maroon chaise lounge beneath one of the many large windows and poured him a glass of wine. Schlatt offered his drink out in a quiet cheers before returning to his position staring out over the city below their elevated place in the White House.

“You sure seem to enjoy people watching.” He had offered up in polite discussion.

“Mm, it’s easy to pass the time. Sometimes I feel untouchable up here, I forget other people are still living their stupid little lives regardless of what I’m doing.”

They fell back into silence for a few minutes, Quackity occasionally shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“You don’t have to stay and hangout with me, I just thought I’d offer you a drink since you’re always here so late.”

“Sorry, you’re just really hard to read. I never know if I’m annoying you.”

Schlatt chuckled. “Yeah, you and every other motherfucker on Earth.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

He turned towards Quackity in slight irritation, “the fuck are you talking about? Don’t get all cryptic with me. If you’ve got a question just ask it.”

“I mean- of always acting, pretending you don’t care about anything. One time I saw you listening to music and singing, I felt like, for a second, I actually _saw_ you.” 

His boss scoffed and took a sip of his drink. “That’s one of the dumbest things you’ve ever said.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” He stood from his seat and set his empty glass on Schlatt’s desk before leaving the room in silent defiance. 

And now here he is sat at his desk, thumb hovering above the flap on this mystery invitation to some high class New Year’s party. Q finds the courage to finally pull the light cream paper from within and scans his eyes over the words.

_To whom it may concern,_

_This is a plus one invitation to L’Manberg’s New Year’s Eve celebration at the private lounge of the Camarvan Bar._

_Doors open at 6pm, December 31st_

He slides the letter back into the envelope. “What the fuck is a Camarvan?” He thinks out loud, “is that just some bullshit word they came up with for a fancy lounge?”

Schlatt suddenly takes a seat on the edge of his desk. “Bingo. Now you understand how the wealthy world works, it’s just a bunch of idiots making shit up.”

“Do I really have to go to this with you, isn’t there someone else you’d rather invite? Maybe some hot side piece or something?”

“Now you’re catching on; that’s your job, princess. You’re my eye candy.”

His face burns with a red hot blush, surely this isn’t real, surely his boss is fucking with him right now, surely this isn’t his poor attempt at flirtation.

It isn’t, right?


	5. Hymn

New Year’s Eve is upon him before he even has time to wonder whether or not the invitation serves as a date or just a formality, something he’s expected to do as Schlatt’s fake husband. But if that were the case, why did he bother pulling the strings? Why did he cash in his favor if Quackity would’ve had to go either way? He resigns himself to the situation as he pulls his usual beanie over his head and nervously fixes some stray hairs in the mirror. It doesn’t make sense no matter which way he looks at it; there’s no reason for his boss to have invited him beyond formality sake, beyond the undeniable fact that they’re _obligated_ to attend these events together, but then why did he call him eye candy? Why did he treat Quackity like he would be his side piece tonight, the thing he would drag around for everyone to look at? Nothing more than a pet on a leash, a dog in a fancy collar; some aspect of it brought heat to his face and butterflies to his stomach. 

For the first time in his life he had gone out and bought a tailored suit for the occasion, it was nothing particularly special, just your average black tie getup. Though, he had replaced the usual black tie that accompanied it with a nice red one that Schlatt had lent him, he said something about how he would look nice in it so obviously he took the advice along with the silky fabric.

All he’s done for the last two hours is pace back and forth around his apartment occasionally glancing at the full length mirror propped against a wall in his room and fiddling with various aspects of his suit. He’s not used to the form fitting fabric, it isn’t tight or uncomfortable, but it definitely hugs him more than his usual slacks and button ups. The only part of his outfit that sticks out or calls any attention to him is Schlatt’s tie, it’s two shades of bright red in a pinstripe pattern. Quackity thumbs over the soft material, he can smell the slightest hint of cologne, whiskey and cigarettes. He used to hate the cacophony of strong scents but it’s somehow grown on him, just a small comfort to quiet his otherwise high strung nerves. 

Schlatt had offered to pick him up earlier, he said yes just to be polite expecting it to be some kind of joke, but the ram only grinned and told him to be ready at quarter to six. Now here he is, quarter to six, standing at his doorway and ready to open it at the slightest knock. His boss values very few things, but punctuality has always seemed to be one of them. Just as Q thinks he’s about to lose his goddamn mind in anticipation there’s a knock on the door, he lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding with a sigh of relief. His hand hesitates for a second above the handle before he finally finds the courage to swing it open. 

Schlatt is… well, where to begin; his jacket and slacks aren’t anything to marvel at, but underneath the dark outer layer of clothing is a red button up, it’s the same shade as the tie Quackity had fumbled with for half an hour trying to put on. His long fingers are adorned in a handful of rings, silvers and golds that he can nearly see his own reflection in. On top of that shines jewelry that dangle gently from his floppy ears, he recognizes one of the earrings in an instant; he had seen it in his dream. And God, his horns, they nearly glow under the shitty yellow overhead lights that hang in the hallway. 

He can’t find the words to say anything, he just drinks in the man standing before him. It’s never been this hard to not bridge the gap between them, usually he can bottle up the slowly building heat that’s been growing in his heart but at this very moment he wants nothing more than to stand on his tip toes and kiss the ram breathless.

“Are you gonna stare all night, or can we go to this lame ass party now?” 

“Oh- yeah, lead the way boss.”

“Don’t call me boss, you know I hate that shit.” 

They walk down the stairs together in silence, it isn’t uncomfortable in the slightest for once. He can’t help but continue looking out of the corner of his eye at Schlatt, completely enthralled with the power and confidence he radiates.

“I didn’t know your ears were pierced.” 

“I don’t wear jewelry much but I figured I’d pull out all the stops just for you.” 

He leans into the last word and it makes Quackity’s knees weak, there’s a split second where he’s afraid he might actually fall; physically and metaphorically.

The ram glances over at him, “You don’t look half bad yourself, _darling._ ”

There he goes again, drawing those syllables out in a way that makes him want to come to a dead stop on the stairs and tear the other man’s suit off in a frenzy. 

“If I can’t call you boss, you can’t call me pet names like that.”

“Why? Afraid you’ll fall for me?” He says it with a shit eating grin plastered on his face; does he know how much those words crawl under Quackity’s skin? Surely he must.

“No, it’s just weird.”

“Oh but princess we’re married, remember? We have to act the part if we want to be convincing.” Schlatt links an arm with Q as they exit the building together, waiting by the curbside is a very shitty looking cab.

He wiggles his arm out from Schlatt’s, “what the fuck, I thought you said you were going to pick me up.” 

“Yeah, and here I am.” 

“I was expecting like, a limo, or a nice black car. Not a fucked up little taxi.” He gestures towards the run down vehicle.

“Well, I had remembered you said you hated them, so I thought it’d be funny.” 

There goes that shit eating grin again, ear-to-ear. 

“This sucks.” He whines.

Schlatt opens the door for him in a small polite gesture, “just get in the car cry baby.”

He does as he’s told and takes a seat on the worn leather upholstery, it warps slightly beneath the weight of his body. His boss has to damn near tuck his legs up from how small the space between his seat and the driver in front of him is; he hands the man a piece of paper with the address on it and they pull away into the evening.

The building they approach is hardly anything to behold, from head on it looks like any other bar or lounge. A dim wash of light escapes the front façade windows, he can just barely see the figures who stand silhouetted within. Schlatt offers his hand as they exit the cab, his mind races with the idea of having to hold the ram’s warm hand in his own. Sure, he’s thought about it more than he’d like to admit, but actually _doing_ it is a different thing.

“C’mon dumbass, you have to hold my hand. I’m not fond of it either, but we all pay for our mistakes.”

“Mistakes?” He hesitantly locks fingers with his boss.

Schlatt leads the pair to the door. “Well yeah, a diplomatic marriage seemed great on the outside but now that we actually have the play the part it’s less than fun.”

“Right, yeah.”

“Don’t tell me you actually _like_ pretending to be married to me.”

He doesn’t know how to answer, by the time he’s formulated any coherent thought the doors have opened to the bustling lounge within. He breathes out in relief finally seeing the space and realizing it isn’t the mysterious bar from his dream. Red light bathes the room in a low warm glow, he recognizes not a single face in the crowd; it’s all wealthy looking business people and politicians he had maybe seen on a billboard in passing. He suddenly finds himself much more nervous than he had been moments earlier, there’s a pressure to somehow live up to Schlatt’s standard of what his image should look like, should feel like, and he doesn’t know how to act.

The ram leans down next to his ear to speak over the music and bustling ambience. “Don’t look so freaked out, I’ll just make a bunch of bullshit polite conversation with these nutjobs and you can stand next to me lookin’ pretty.”

“How long do we have to stay?”

“Probably until midnight, it’s weird if we leave early.”

Quackity groans, it’s going to be a long night. “Can I at least drink?”

“Oh, fuck yeah, all these bozo’s are already plastered. I bet they pre-gamed all day.” Schlatt lets go of his hand and points towards the bar, “grab me something too while you’re at it. Surprise me.” He gives a playful grin.

Q makes his way through the crowded room occasionally trying to give polite smiles at people who seem to look his way, he feels incredibly out of place and entirely out of his comfort zone being surrounded by so much wealth. He’s usually outgoing, confident and sure of himself, but something about fancy shit gets him worked up; he doesn’t belong here. He motions for the bartender who approaches with a nod in greeting, she dries her hands off on a small towel and slings it over her shoulder.

“What can I get for you?” 

“Hm, I guess I’ll have a Rum and Coke.” 

She writes his drink down on a small notepad, “you’re easy to please.”

Quackity looks back over his shoulder at Schlatt who seems to be mingling with a group of businessmen. “What do you think Big Man over there would like? He told me to surprise him and I’m not great at guessing.”

“Isn’t that… President Schlatt?” Her face is clouded with a momentary confusion and then a sudden understanding, “oh! You must be his husband, Quackity. So sorry I didn’t recognize you sir.” She profusely apologizes.

“Woah, it’s all good, the lighting in here is shit.” He waves her off, “don’t worry about it.”

“About the drink though, he seems like… maybe a Purple Haze kinda guy, yeah?” 

“Let’s go with that then, thanks for humoring me here. I’m a bit out of my comfort zone.” He confides in her, though he isn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it’s the fact that she seems to be just another normal person, a regular fool like himself, not one of these stuffy politicians and rich fucks. Their short conversation is enough to soothe his nerves at the very least. He graciously takes the drinks and carefully finds his way back to Schlatt who has already moved to another group of old men to chat up.

“Here’s your drink man.” He offers the glass up to the ram who gently takes it from his hand to avoid spilling.

“Is this a Purple Haze? Good guess, not my favorite but not the worst either.” 

“Yeah well I cheated, I asked the bartender what she thought you’d like.”

Schlatt chuckles a bit, “whatever works.”

He raises his glass to his lips and takes the first drink of what he assumes will be many as the night continues to drag on. “Should I like, follow you around while you talk to all these wrinkly old fucks?” 

The other man nearly spits his drink out, barely managing to choke down his laughter. “Quackity, you can’t say that kinda shit in here, you’re gonna get me mounted on some sick fuck’s trophy wall!” 

“Oops- sorry, I’ll uh, try and keep that shit locked down deep inside.” He mimics locking his lips and then tosses the imaginary key over his shoulder.

Schlatt pulls him in by his shoulders for a moment of privacy, “look, we can make fun of these stuffy ol’ coots when we get outta here, alright? Just play nice for a few hours and pretend like we’re in love, ‘kay?”

He nods, “can do boss.” 

“Stop callin’ me that; it’s sugar, or love, or darling tonight. You can pick whatever sappy pet name you want as long as it isn’t boss.”

“How about…” He taps his chin in contemplation, “love bug?” 

The ram fakes a gag and keels over in a pretend display of disgust. “That sucks, but I’ll allow it for the sake of the act. Just, make it believable.”

The night continues as planned, they visit countless circles of people chatting; Schlatt will say something funny and Q will fake a laugh and lean against his shoulder in a feigned show of affection. Everyone buys the act just like they have from the beginning, there are no suspicious looks or second guesses thrown their way. It’s all smooth sailing. Quackity gets maybe a little _too_ into the act after he’s had a few drinks, his boss says something nice about him in an insincere manner and he leans up to plant a kiss on his scruffy cheek. The warmth of his skin beneath his lips almost makes him melt, he’s brought back to the sobering reality a moment later when Schlatt throws him a questioning look that says:

_Too much, take it down a notch._

Midnight slowly approaches and he keeps playing the same thing over and over again in his head, what are they going to do about the fabled New Year’s kiss? Surely it’s expected of them as supposed husbands, lovers even, that they’ll embrace and press their mouths against one another in celebration of another year gone by. He finds himself on the balcony alone at five to twelve, he can’t stand another second stuck in the loud bar full of unfamiliar faces. 

Quackity leans over the railing, mostly empty drink in hand, the ice clinks against the ornate glass as he swirls the remaining liquid at the bottom. It’s nice up here, being able to look down on the celebrating city below. He wishes he was with his friends, shit faced in some random bar, loudly singing and counting down to the new year, but instead he’s torturing himself by _pretending_ to be in love with a man who he is _actually_ very much in love with. When did that even happen, anyways? When had it gone from a playful crush in a stupid dream to being a reality, to an all consuming flame that bites at his heart everytime they make eye contact. He downs the rest of his drink and sets the glass down next to his feet, drunken dizziness overcomes him as he makes an attempt to stand back upright.

“Try and not hurt yourself there, sport.” Schlatt calls from the doorway.

“I’m fine, just a little out of it.” He waves him away, praying he can continue this quiet moment until he’s allowed to go home and collapse into his own bed.

But as usual, his prayers go unanswered as the ram walks across the wooden floorboards of the patio to stand next to him, their elbows are barely touching where they rest on the banister. 

“Tired already?” He checks his watch, “oh shit, it’s almost midnight huh? Guess it’s time to reel in the new year.”

“Got any resolutions?” 

“Mm, I don’t really believe in that shit. Just be the best you can be, that’s really all there is to it. Why would I start during the new year when I can start anytime? Seems stupid.” 

Q can feel his body moving on its own again, he leans his head against Schlatt’s shoulder. The other man doesn’t make any attempt to move, he just allows him to rest there and close his eyes for a moment. 

And then the moment passes. 

“You ever smoked before?” He breaks the contact by adjusting to reach into the inner pocket of his jacket and produces a mostly empty carton of cigarettes before silently offering one to Quackity who, to his own surprise, takes it.

The loud year end countdown begins from inside;

_10_

Schlatt flicks his Zippo open and cups the flame in front of his dart.

_9_

The paper and tobacco slowly burn away and leave embers behind, he takes a drag and exhales out through his nose.

_8_

Now he reaches over to Quackity with the open lighter, the small flame flickers and then goes out against the wind.

_7_

He sighs in a moment of defeat before an idea seems to come to him.

_6_

He pulls Q’s hand up to the now lit cigarette,

_5_

And allows him to guide their faces closer together in a sudden act of intimacy.

_4_

Quackity’s heart is in his throat, he wants to let his eyes flutter shut but he can’t tear them away from Schlatt’s fiery gaze.

_3_

The heat between their faces seems like it alone would be enough to light the dart between his lips.

_2_

He can feel the other man’s warm breath against his cheeks as they inch closer,

_1_

His cigarette slowly takes to the lit embers pressed against the end, he takes a shaky breath and feels the smoke swirl and burn in his lungs.

_0_

“Happy New Year, Quackity.” The ram pulls away.

He coughs a bit as he exhales, “Happy New Year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said there was no way I'd have time to update for the next few days? Well, surprise, I found time.


	6. Martin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been quite busy which accounts for the lull in my upload schedule. This chapter took a lot of contemplation and bouncing ideas off of friends to figure out what direction I want to take things. Without spoiling anything, we are nowhere close to the end; buckle up.

Winter has slowly made way for spring as the tail end of February welcomes the blossoms of March; Quackity has made a promise to himself that one of these days, one of these goddamn days, he’s going to sit down and finally talk to Schlatt about what they’re doing. At this point it’s been months of painful buildup and avoiding each other at work but still having the occasional flirtatious encounter. He’s sick of playing cat and mouse with the guy, it’d be so much easier to just ask if it’s real or not but that opens the door for it all to be over and he’s not sure if that’s something he’s ready for. If Schlatt confirms his fears, that it’s all just an act, that New Years was nothing more than a fluke, that he doesn’t have any deeper feelings for him beyond the mutual benefit of their diplomatic partnership; it’ll crush him and leave nothing behind.

Tonight he makes his way back to the office and spins the possibilities around in his mind while walking through the empty streets; he’d made it all the way home before realizing he left his phone in the top drawer of his desk. Silently cursing himself as he rifled through every pocket and compartment he could think to check in his jacket, pants and briefcase he finally remembered shutting it into the bureau to avoid distractions for a while. Q shimmies his sleeve up to check the time, he lets out a small whine upon seeing the hour hand strike midnight. He could be curled up in bed right now, maybe talking to Karl and Sapnap on the phone for a bit before eventually dozing off into the warm depths of sleep. But no, instead he’s briskly walking back to his stupid office on account of his own forgetfulness. 

A dark sky hangs overhead, he stares up at the blank canvas as he ascends the steps; watching the little lights twinkle above brings a slight calmness to an otherwise hectic life. Just a small moment, a single instance where he can take a deep breath, hold it full in his lungs, and then exhale his worries to be carried away on the wind. The soft clicking of footsteps pulls his attention back down to Earth, a very ordinary looking woman shoots him a polite smile as they pass each other going opposite directions. He pays the encounter no mind and enters the mostly dark building, automatic lights in empty hallways flicker to life as Q makes his way towards the office. Yawning and wiping the slow creep of sleep from his eyes he turns a corner down the final stretch of checkered carpet. To his surprise Schlatt is stood at the vending machine in the hallway; he looks slightly unkempt and a bit disheveled, his hair falls onto his forehead in a few wavy strands and his tie is loosened around its usual place on his neck. Small purple and red bruises fleck his otherwise pristine skin, the fabric on his shoulders appears to move heavily while he still catches his breath.

The woman he passed on the staircase, her polite smile while holding a jacket over one arm, shirt still partially unbuttoned. The pieces slowly fit together, a completed image, an assumption that can be drawn from all the little things; a weight on his chest that presses down with so much force he’s afraid his knees will buckle beneath it. 

Schlatt finally takes note of his presence, he looks at Quackity with recognition and then apparent horror. Neither of them move, they can’t, moving would drive the moment forward and that would force them to acknowledge the rift that’s been driven between their minds; their bodies; their hearts. 

Angry and confused tears well up in his clouded eyes, he tries to play it cool despite the obvious emotions painted on his face. A simple nod, a small greeting in passing. Schlatt opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out; it’s just dead air upon dead air. 

It’s a blur, a flurry of hasty movements, tearing his phone from within his desk drawer and storming back out of the building in a panicked delirium. It’s numbly walking to the bridge over the river and crouching on the pavement, clinging onto the iron bars for dear life as sobs and choked wails escape his hollow chest. It’s feeling the dark corners of fabric that lay over his mind slowly pull in and over themselves, coating his lungs in tar and ash as they burn away any breath he could ever hold. It’s clutching his shirt in balled fists, clawing and begging for any release from the overshadowed light, desperately praying for it all to be a cruel joke. 

It’s a let down.

He always did get his hopes up.

Quackity can’t catch his breath, he’s coughing and wheezing on a liquid panic that overwhelms his foggy mind, he fumbles to turn his phone on and braces against the bright illumination that radiates off the screen. Tears slip off his cheeks and fall onto the display beneath his fingertips, he curses in frustration as he attempts to call Karl. 

The line rings.

Again.

Once more.

A sleepy voice finally sings from the other side, “Quackity?” 

Silence.

“Are you okay? It’s super late man.” He yawns.

“Karl-” He chokes on the words while trying not to sob.

“Cutie? Where are you?” The soft sounds of rustling fabric can be heard over the phone as Karl drags himself from bed.

He thinks about the ram standing in the hallway missing his jacket, belt buckle undone, shirt barely buttoned. “It’s Schlatt, I- I don’t know-” 

“Calm down, deep breaths. Tell me where you are, okay? We can stay on the phone until I get to you.” Keys jingle on the other side, “does that sound like a plan? Can we do that?”

He nods even though the other boy can’t see it.

Karl takes his silence as a confirmation, “okay. Let’s just talk then, where are you? Can you tell me?”

“I’m- I’m on the bridge. The one that passes between my side of town to yours.”

“You’re not going to do anything stupid, right? You’re going to sit tight and wait for me?”

“Yeah.”

A gentle sigh passes over the line. “Okay, I’m on my way. Let’s just talk, what were you doing?”

Q fiddles with the corner of his shirt between his thumb and pointer finger. “Um, I left my phone in the office. I was going back to grab it.”

“And then what?” His voice echoes through the stairwell of his apartment building.

“I saw Schlatt, he was at the vending machine.”

“Okay.” A door opens and closes, “so why are you freaking out right now?”

“I passed some stupid bitch on my way in- I think he…” He trails off as the thought gets stuck in his mind, the machinery comes to a grinding halt while he imagines the two of them kissing in the dark, holding each other, of wishing it was him in her shoes. 

“You don’t have to say anymore if you don’t want to. Why don’t we just… chat about nothing, okay? Can we manage that?”

He nods again before taking a shaky breath. “Okay. Um, how was your day?”

“It was good.” Karl’s smile is audible, “I went on a little early spring picnic with the feral boys, minus you of course. We missed you; did you get my text?”

“Probably, it was a really busy day so I had my phone in a drawer to stay focused. I didn’t really get the chance to check it much.”

“All good, there’s always next time. Anyways, we just hung out in the park and played frisbee for a while. It was super chill.” 

A small lull in the conversation washes over the receiver.

“Oh! I also saw that duck family, the one from last year, remember? We had named all of the babies and everything.”

His lips curve up in a slight smile. “Were they all alive? Did they look okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, I couldn’t differentiate between any of them since they’re ducks, but we counted them and the gang was all there. They’re all grown up now. I bet they have their own little ducky families that they go home to at night.”

Q sniffles and chuckles a little bit. 

“Can you imagine that? A little ducky house? Do you think they have like… a kiddie pool for a bathtub- wait-" He cuts himself off mid-sentence, "oh my God, what do you think they play with in the tub, do they have like, rubber people instead of rubber duckies?”

He finally laughs. “I dunno, probably. Do you think they still squeak, or do they make like, a weird human noise.”

Karl laughs too, “what the fuck is a human noise?”

“No idea.”

“I see you, I’m gonna hang up, okay?”

“Okay.”

His phone beeps as Karl disconnects the line, he looks up to see his friend jogging over in pajama pants and one of Sapnap’s hoodies. Q sits back on the pavement finally, his feet have gone numb from squatting for so long.

“Nice outfit.” He calls over.

“Thanks, I was kind of in a hurry.”

The other boy plops down next to him and crosses his legs on the dirty ground, he wears a reassuring smile and gently takes one of Quackity’s hands. 

“So… You’re freaking out because you think Schlatt slept with someone?”

He sighs. “Yeah. I dunno, I guess I just thought… maybe there was something there, something between us, y’know?”

“I didn’t even know you were still on that, I assumed you had moved past it.”

“No… I wish.” He looks up at the sky for the second time that night, “did I tell you about what happened at that stuffy New Year’s party I had to go to?”

Karl looks up with him, “mm, no I don’t think so. If you did I already forgot.”

“We were standing on the balcony at midnight, just the two of us.” He blushes as he recalls the memory. “I was pretty fucked up and he offered me a cigarette. I took it, I dunno why, but I took it.”

“Oh so you smoke now?” He teases.

“Very funny, but no.” Q takes a deep breath. “He couldn’t manage to light mine because of the wind so he lit my cigarette with his. Like, some kind of fucked up almost-kiss.” He looks back down at Karl. “I thought I was going to die, I swear to God.”

The other boy pries his eyes off the moon and back to Quackity. “Woah… That’s fucking gay.”

They both laugh.

“How am I supposed to cope with this shit. I can’t just ask him if he fucked some random lady, what if I misinterpreted it? What if he thinks I’m crazy for even thinking about it? What if I scare him away? What if-”

Karl cuts him off. “Okay okay, slow down Cutie, spiraling isn’t going to get you anywhere. What’s the worst case scenario?”

“I guess that he hates me, or stops talking to me, or that I’ve been pining for this stupid fucking ram for months and nothing comes of it.”

“And then what?” He prods.

Quackity thinks for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“You’d move on, you’re not going to die over this, would you really give him the satisfaction?”

He chuckles a little bit, “God no. I hate when he gets his way.”

“Okay, so you’d be fine, right? Even if it really sucks right now, you’ll be fine.”

He rests his chin in his palm, “I guess so. But… I think I’m in love with the guy. Like, actually.”

“Woah, that’s pretty scary stuff.” Karl contemplates his words for a moment before continuing, “remember when I was super into that girl in high school? I was obsessed with her, I was convinced we were gonna get married.”

“Oh my God, yeah, that was so pathetic.”

“Okay, ouch, but anyways, nothing ever came of it, and look at me now. I’m fine. I have Sapnap and a nice little apartment. Nothing bad happened to me, it just really sucked for a while.”

“Yeah… I guess so… I just, I really wanted this to work.”

“I know Cutie.” He rubs gentle circles on the back of Q’s hand with his thumb. “Are you going to ask him about it?”

“No. I don’t think I could handle the answer, I’d rather just… live with the assumption and deal with it.”

“Are you sure? Usually talking about that kind of shit helps.” He presses.

He thinks about Schlatt, about the way in which he bottles everything up. “I don’t think Schlatt even has the emotional capability to talk about it, he’s a fucking walking corpse.”

Karl laughs a little bit and pushes himself to his feet before offering a hand out to Quackity. “Whatever you say man. Ready to go home? I’ll walk you back.” 

“Yeah, I think so.” He takes the gesture and pulls himself to a standing position.

They walk in comfortable silence through the quiet city. Buildings are checker-boarded with light and dark windows, some shades are drawn and others are wide open to the chilled spring air. He still sniffles once every so often as a couple of stray tears continue to slide down his cheeks, the pain is still very much there. Karl takes one of his hands and gently swings their arms, it’s a comforting act that brings a kind of rhythm and monotony to the walk. In a way he almost doesn’t want this moment to be over, the dull ache of this hurt, the hot tears and reassurance from his friend. The second he’s alone he knows it’ll start all over again, he’ll spiral into endless thoughts of ‘what if’ and ‘how come’ before eventually passing out, physically and emotionally exhausted, on his squeaky mattress. But right now, during this lull in the raging storm, he can appreciate the cozy aspects of sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another note, pog. 
> 
> It was important to me that this isn't a world ending scenario, I think people get caught up in the fiction of suffering for love but realistically, you won't die over heartbreak. Yes, it sucks, it feels like shit, but the worst case scenario is that you wallow in your sadness for a while & then you move on. 
> 
> (Seemingly) unrequited feelings can only cut skin deep.


	7. Deadlines (Thoughtful)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter, but very heavy. For the best experience please listen to "For Wanda" by Silver Mt. Zion while reading <3
> 
> CW for religious trauma / internalized homophobia

Schlatt was raised to be sturdy, unmoving and infallible. He’s a ram after all, his horns are a status symbol, his teeth are a weapon, his unwavering disposition a strength. And now a single man is able to unravel him at the seams, how pathetic is that? To love another man, to reach for his touch, to seek out his gaze; how frightening, how mortifying, the ordeal of being known, of being cared for. It drives him mad, every night digging out the old rosary from the bottom drawer of his mahogany desk and clutching it between white knuckles. Perhaps if he kissed the beads enough, with the right amount of desperation and fervor, perhaps this too will pass. It had passed before, had it not? When he was a boy, when he looked at other boys the same way they looked at other girls, when he kept quiet and still in the dark of the confessional booth praying for God to turn a blind eye when he thumbed through business magazines and stared at the men on the glossy pages. Oh, to be a young faggot stuck in the rural country side of an unforgiving town, to have no friends and no hope for any future. 

This was an admission of weakness, that he is not unmoving and infallible, that he is in fact falling faster and harder than the stars he used to wish on as a child. 

_Dear God, Dear God;_

_If I reach my hand out far enough, if I stuff these feelings down with enough force_

_Will you forgive me?_

It’s stumbling to the closest bar already intoxicated and locating the nearest woman of average looks, it’s pretending to find her attractive and asking her to come back to his room, it’s fucking her and not being able to finish unless he’s thinking about another man, it’s trying to pretend that this is how things are meant to be. 

And now he’s standing at the vending machine with his shirt unbuttoned, belt still undone, hickies on the soft skin of his neck. His mind is cloudier than it had been prior to the entire ordeal. He buys an iced coffee and waits for it to hit the bottom with a thunk but before any of these things can happen he feels the quiet presence of someone else in the hallway, a familiar figure, someone he knows, someone he wants to know better.

The space between them has been split open like the fucking red sea and stained with blood from his sticky hands. It hits him all at once, a freight train that rams its cold steel into the open cavity of his chest, bone and flesh tear away beneath the fervor of an unstoppable object. It’s a burning crater that carves itself into his still beating heart and cauterizes the fraying edges left behind; like he’s standing in his own ashes, a funeral that only he’s privy to attend.

And he’s a coward just like he’s always been, motionless and slack jawed, unable to move or say anything, unable to reach out and cup the slowly suffocating flame that sits before him. 

He’s done the one thing he never wanted to do, he’s hurt Quackity.

Schlatt wants to reach out so badly and pull him in by his shoulders, he wants to hold his face in his rough hands and kiss him raw, he wants to admit all of his guilt and shame to Q the same way he used to in those dark confessional booths and feel the weight be lifted off of his heavy shoulders. If he were a holy image made up of so many tiny pieces, would the sun be able to shine through him? Would his body, hanging limp from a fraying rope and dimly lit by a single fluorescent light, suddenly begin to move again? Could he restart the single muscle that stopped beating so long ago with the force of his desperation? He is the proverbial beating dog in this life, there is no answer and there is no God, it’s just him and a man whose eyes he cannot meet standing in the suffocating silence of a familiar hallway.

He watches as Quackity walks past him to his office, for a moment he opens his mouth to say something but quickly realizes that there’s nothing to be said. 

He forgets about the iced coffee, forgets about his headache and the slow creep of bile that stings the back of his throat. He breaks the seal on another bottle of bourbon and begins to do the same thing he does every evening; drink himself to death. One of these days his liver will have had enough or maybe he’ll finally slip into that final night’s rest. Will the people who find his body even take a second glance at his decaying corpse? Wouldn’t it be more fitting, more poetic, to leave his remains stagnant and festering on the marble floor.

Will Quackity cry at his funeral? Will he admit his love for a man who could never even face himself in the mirror? Will he collapse on the freshly upturned dirt and curse Schlatt for never being able to let go of his pride, of his image, the one he had so easily seen through from the very beginning? Will he go to Hell? 

He chuckles.

Hell is already a place on Earth and he’s been living there since the day he was born.

He wonders if maybe in some other world he was able to grow up without the prying eyes of an unforeseen force constantly upon him, in a quiet house without fighting and strife, perhaps in a nice middle class neighborhood with kids who liked him, kids he didn’t resent. But one man cannot force the world to move beneath his feet, everyday he learns this just a little bit more. 

He takes another swig from the bottle; Quackity is most likely already with friends, complaining and venting his sorrows to people who understand and care about him. They’ll reassure him that Schlatt’s an asshole, that he’s a real piece of shit who obviously doesn’t care about him, and to an extent they’d be right. It isn’t that he doesn’t care though, it’s the opposite, it’s that he cares so much it’s eating him alive, that he loves so hard and so potently it burns through his skin like acid and leaves nothing in its wake. 

The ram drunkenly stands from his leather office chair and looks out the window facing the sea. God, he wishes he could dissolve into the ocean and never worry about a thing again. It would be so nice, so free to float along among the waves and not have a care in the world, but instead he’s left to pick up the pieces after every day of falling apart. In the darkness of his empty room he’ll tape himself back together and hold the excess in his arms, little bits fall from the weak points in his grip and every time he bends over to pick one up another will fall between the cracks; it’s an endless cycle.

That night he falls asleep on the cold tile floor of his office. In the morning Fundy politely knocks on the closed door and, upon hearing no answer after multiple calls inside, decides to come in anyways only to find his boss curled up and clutching an empty bottle to his chest. 

He sets the paperwork he had been holding on Schlatt’s desk and squats down to gently shake his shoulder with one hand. “Schlatt, are you okay?”

A small groan escapes his lips as he manages to sit up and rub the sleep from his eyes. “Mm… What time is it?”

The fox glances down at his watch. “Um, like half past six. I’m the first one here.”

“Yeah, you always are.” 

“Are you okay? I know we don’t talk much outside of work stuff but… you look like shit right now.”

He waves him off, “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Is there something you want?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grabs the documents off the desk. “I just wanted to know when you needed these forms back by.”

“No rush, definitely by the end of the week though.”

Fundy gives a small thanks and gets to his feet. Before he reaches the door he turns back to take another look at the defeated man sitting on the floor. “Do you want me to bring you some coffee? Maybe something to eat?”

“No it’s fine, I’ll get up eventually.”

“Are you sure man?”

“Yes I’m fuckin’ sure. Before you go though, can you clear my schedule for tomorrow?”

“Got big plans or something?”

He shakes his head and thinks about the small town he grew up in, about the single church that stood unwavering against a backdrop of fields and barns. “I just have someplace I need to visit is all.”


	8. What's With You Lately?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks, sorry for the delay <3 
> 
> CW: suicidal thoughts / actions; religious guilt / trauma; negative parental relationships

He’s sat in the driver’s seat of a beat up car he rented gripping the steering wheel with enough force to leave imprints on the hardened leather beneath his fingers. Slowly but surely the infrastructure of the city makes way for the freedom of fields and farms; as he gets further away from civilization the channels on the old static-filled radio are taken up by sermons and hymns. Schlatt pries his eyes off the endless road ahead of him and turns the dial looking for anything besides gospel, all he can find is silence. He shuts the white noise off and feels the heavy weight of dead air press down upon his shoulders. It’s suffocating, to drive through the rural landscape, to pass by so many familiar billboards with hand painted messages of doom and rapture. 

He hadn’t told anyone where he was headed on account of the fact he wasn’t sure if he’d come back. And who could blame him, really, after all these years of dragging his lifeless corpse around pretending to be alive. There’s so little left to do, so little left to see, the last place he wants to be is inside a church and begging for forgiveness, so that’s where he’ll go. 

That’s where he’s going.

He won’t visit his estranged family, he won’t drive past his elementary school, he won’t walk through his old neighborhood; no, the only place he’ll go is to the crumbling building that stands in the center of town, a fake testimony to a God he isn’t sure he believes in anymore. He thinks about the gun in the glovebox, oh how tantalizing it is to picture his own blood splattered against the holy idols that litter the apse. His body will be a gift to the Sunday sermon following his untimely death, his corpse lying mangled like roadkill, a beaten dog who has suffered for so long he can no longer bark, can no longer bite. He’s been wearing the same self imposed muzzle for as long as he can remember, he’s not sure he even has the key anymore. 

The old church finally comes into view well into the night, in a few hours the sun will begin to rise through the shoddy stained glass windows and litter his remains in a colourful wash of light. Schlatt takes the gun from the glovebox before pulling the keys from the ignition, his footsteps echo through the pews and down the aisles. A single statue of Mother Mary sits behind the altar, there’s no other idol he’d rather blow his brains out against. She stares down at him with hollow wooden eyes, the wear of time has splintered and warped her once delicately hand carved frame; he holds a rosary in one hand and cold steel in the other. Standing back against the motherly figure of Heaven he shakily brings the gun to his lips and presses the barrel firmly against the roof of his mouth, it’s now or never.

Jesus could turn water into wine and he can turn sorrow into violence. 

There’s no hesitation, he pulls the trigger with a click and falls limp to the floor.

But there is no blood.

Because he never loaded the gun.

And the muzzle finally comes off.

He brings a forearm over his eyes and lets out the first sob in many, many years. It’s desperate and heavy, his shoulders shake beneath the weight of his pent up emotions tumbling out all at once. He’s still falling, the same way he’s been falling for all this time, plunging deeper and deeper into the depths until it’s an all consuming surge of cold darkness. And it’s eating him alive, just like it always has, these little silverfish who have wormed their way into his heart and began chewing away at the fat until all that’s left is ribbons of bruised flesh. He can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t open his eyes, all he can do is cry with his head pressed against the base of an old wooden statue in his childhood town. 

But God, what could he possibly do? It’s so pathetic to admit weakness, and that’s what love is, is it not? If he comes to terms with the fact that he has some kind of soft spot, some ability to care for others, that would certainly spell his downfall, right? To love, to be loved, these are things that only cowards do, and he is certainly not a coward. Cowardice has nothing to do with avoiding your problems, with drinking copious amounts to numb the second guessing, with holding people at arm's length, with running away from possibly the only person who could or has ever loved you. No, none of this has anything to do with where he sits defeated on the splintering wooden floorboards looking smaller and weaker than he ever has. Maybe if he closes his eyes tight enough, if he grips his skin with enough force, if he peels back the flesh that wraps his pathetic body, if he drains the blood from his veins, maybe then it will all become clear. 

He stares up at the old vaulted ceilings and traces the cracks in the foundation with his blurry gaze, tear stains run down his pale face and reflect under the moon shining through the overhead window. A single shooting star passes the foggy panes of glass leaving a trail of light behind it; he wishes he could come clean to Quackity about everything, about all the shit clouding his judgement and making his mind hazy with indecision and fear. Every time he wants to pull the other man against his body and lose himself to desire he instead pushes further away, by now he’s so far gone that the shore has been long since lost in the distance. 

Schlatt draws his knees up against his chest and wraps his arms around his legs, it’s the only comfort he can think to perform in this empty and quiet moment. He thinks about when he was a child, when his horns were just starting to come in and his father would lament about the strength and fortitude of a ram, when he found his supposedly powerful young son hoarding business magazines to look at all of the beautiful men on the pages, when he cowered in fear against the wall of his dimly lit bedroom and braced against the yelling and disappointment. 

_“If I ever catch you doing that again I’ll kill you, do you hear me boy? I’ll take you out behind the goddamn shed and do it myself.”_

He remembers why they don’t talk anymore.

The silence that surrounds his crumpled body is deafening at this point, he knows who to reach out to, it’s just a matter of whether or not he’s got the guts to do it. He pulls his phone from his pocket and squints against the bright display, Quackity’s number has sat untouched in his contacts for the entirety of their tense relationship. Every time he sees it he reminds himself it’s just for business reasons, there’s no circumstance for him to ever make the call and hear his associate’s calming voice on the other side, to lean into every syllable like a warm fire and melt against it. 

But tonight is different.

His thumb hovers over the screen for far too long before he musters enough courage to press the button and bring the speaker to his ear. Heart in his throat, he waits in suffocating stillness for any sound to grace the line, it wouldn’t be surprising if Q didn’t pick up at all considering the time. 

“Hello?” He yawns as he speaks.

It’s amazing, how the cold is warded off so easily by a single word, how a newfound comfort can be found in one person. It’s scary. 

“Who is this? I’m gonna hang up.”

“Wait-” He scrambles to repair the rift forming between them, “it’s, um, it’s Schlatt. Sorry for calling you so late.”

A slight rustling can be heard from the other side as Quackity presumably sits up in bed. “What the fuck, Schlatt? Why are you calling me at like… what time is it anyways?”

“Uh…” He takes the phone away from his ear to glance at the clock, “it’s just about half past three.”

“You’re insane. Are you drunk?”

“No, I just didn’t know who to call.”

Quackity sighs. “You’re not making any goddamn sense right now, I’m gonna assume you’re fucking plastered and hang up.”

“Please don’t hang up.” He practically begs.

There’s a momentary lull that fills the receiver. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t just go back to bed.”

“I just need to clear my head, I needed to hear someone else’s voice.”

“So you called me?” He almost sounds offended.

“Sorry.”

The call goes quiet again except for the slight sounds of their breathing. Schlatt’s mind wanders off the beaten path, he wonders what Quackity’s wearing right now, if he’s curled up in bed in nothing but boxers and nuzzled up in a cocoon of blankets. Would he let the ram get under the covers with him and fall asleep together with the warmth of their bodies keeping them cozy and safe? 

“Did you… have a hookup the other night?” 

The question comes out of left field and hits him in the heart, he had forgotten that Q had seen the aftermath of said fling. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Schlatt brings a hand up over his eyes and lets out a deep sigh. “Do you want like, the whole story? Or a paraphrased version of it?”

“Paraphrased, I’m tired.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I have some things I need to… work through. And you’ve been making that hard, seeing you makes that hard.”

“...What do you mean?”

“I mean…” It gets more difficult to formulate sentences the deeper into his emotions he goes, it’s uncharted territory. “I mean that when I see you I want to…” He trails off again.

“You want to what?” Quackity presses.

“Look, this is hard for me, okay? Don’t push it.”

“Is this some kind of Catholic guilt thing?”

Schlatt breathes out through his nose in a half hearted chuckle. “Feels pretty stupid when you say it like that.”

“Oh shit- I- It was a joke man. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He lies. “Look I know this is out of character for me but… Can we talk soon?”

Q shifts in bed. “What are we doing right now?” 

“I mean in person, face to face. There are some things I owe you an explanation for, and some things I want to do.” That familiar heat creeps up to his face and mangles his insides in a nervous knot; he hears Quackity’s breath hitch in his throat over the phone.

“Sure.” 

“After work tonight, come to my office. I’ll leave the door open.”

“Is that a request or a demand?” He teases, but his words are laced with warmth and desire.

“A demand.” 

“Alright, I’ll see you tonight then, Schlatt.” 

The line beeps and he’s once again left alone in the still darkness of the altar but this time it feels less suffocating, less overwhelming. He leans his head up and backwards to look at the figure of Mother Mary looming above him.

“Are you proud of me? Can I finally leave this place for good?”

He swears he can see her smile.


	9. Life Worth Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had a ton of time to respond to comments the last few days but I will be going back and doing that tonight, I promise I read 100% of them and they always mean the world to me. Thank you all as always for reading and engaging with my silly little stories <3
> 
> CW for mild sexual content, nothing too spicy!

By the time everyone has left the office it’s well past midnight; all of the hall lights begin to flicker off in the distinct absence of movement through the winding corridors. Schlatt sits at his stately mahogany desk with his hands clasped in waiting, he holds baited breath as the slow approach of footsteps begins to echo down the hallways. Slowly but surely the overhead lights once again come to life as the only other soul who dares breathe within these walls nears his final destination. Quackity appears in the doorway looking a bit nicer than usual, more clean, he wears the bright red pinstripe tie that the ram had lent him over New Year’s against a stark white button up. It’s clearly not been ironed since it was last washed and a corner has come untucked from his waistband, but that’s part of his charm, that he’s never all the way put together. The pair stare at each other from opposite sides of the mostly empty room for what feels like far too long; Schlatt eventually rises from his chair and approaches his old record player next to the bookshelf, he flips through a few vinyls before choosing an old folk album. A bit of dust comes from within the worn paper sleeve as he places it onto the spindle and lowers the arm down to the black disk, the quiet hum of music fills the somewhat tense space with a more relaxed air. 

Quackity is still unmoving in the doorway, he almost looks scared, like he’s been called here for some kind of reprimanding even though they’re both very aware of why they stand here, quarter past midnight, in an empty building. Schlatt invites him inside with a slight wave of his hand and sits down on the corner of his desk so they reach something more akin to eye level.

“Close the door, will you?” He calls over.

His VP simply nods and quietly pushes the door closed with a soft click. 

“You look a lot more nervous than I thought you’d be, seems like you’re always the one trying to get in my pants.” Schlatt laments as he pours himself a shallow glass of wine; humor has always been his coping mechanism in tense situations. “Want some?” He offers the bottle out to Q who still has not said a word. He watches the other man nervously wring his wrists, eyes glued to the floor or darting to the window behind the desk. 

“I don’t know _why_ I’m so nervous.” Quackity finally manages to speak.

“I’m nervous too.” He admits.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s scary, talking about your feelings that is.”

Now that he’s got his foot in the door there’s no going back, all he can do is pry it open with all of his might and pray to God that this goes well. It’s funny almost, how they’ve been mutually pining after each other for these long months and yet the second they try to speak about it the words magically disappear, like they somehow have nothing to say to each other despite all of the things they’ve been bottling up. 

Quackity finally comes deeper into the room and stands in front of Schlatt, the distance between them could easily be closed by one swift motion or a firm grab of the wrist.

“So.” He starts, losing the words beneath his tongue. 

“Can I hear the long version of why you had a hookup with that girl after we’ve been playing cat and mouse for months?” Q finally meets the ram’s gaze and holds it. 

It catches him off guard at first, the same way it had caught him off guard the night before on the phone, but he’s more prepared to answer this time. “Sure, if that’s what you want.” He takes a slow sip of his wine to gather a bit of courage. “I guess I owe you an explanation, like I said the other night, and that’s still true.” The red liquid in his glass swirls in tight circles as he absentmindedly fidgets with the drink. “I was raised religious. I got dragged to sermons every Sunday, I had to go to a Catholic all boys school, and that kind of sucked as you can probably imagine.”

He nods in understanding and a small usher in the story.

“So now here I am as an adult having never kissed another man before, it’s all uncharted territory for me even though I’ve been thinking about it since day one.” He sets his glass next to him on the desk. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it makes sense. But, why the hookup?”

“I don’t know, to prove to myself that I’m not a fag I guess.”

Q winces a bit at the words, like he’s said something sacreligious, something unholy. 

“Oh, sorry, force of habit. I should probably… try and not say that kinda shit anymore huh.”

“Nah, you can say it, I just feel bad for you.”

Schlatt chuckles a little bit, “that’s a first.”

A small lull in the conversation fills the room, the quiet music from the record player is the only thing keeping him sane at this moment. 

The other man finally breaks the silence. “Can I kiss you?” 

Ah, he expected this, but it still forces all of the air from his lungs in a sense of elation and anxiety. His mouth goes unexpectedly dry, the same way it went dry at his first high school dance when another boy offered to waltz with him while he stood alone, when he taught Schlatt how to do the simple steps in a friendly and joking manner, when he suddenly shoved him away in disgust the second the ram had gone to lay his head on the other boy’s chest. He wants to say yes, God, it’s the only thing he wants on Earth at this very moment, but finding the ability to do so proves more than a little challenging. 

So he does the next best thing; he nods. 

Quackity closes the space between them gently, there are no sudden movements or harsh touches, he approaches as though working with a wild animal who may dart away at any second and he isn’t entirely wrong. All of the heat in his body has gone to his face; the second their lips touch it’s as though he’s on fire. But it doesn’t burn, it isn’t painful, no, it’s warm and welcoming, it beckons him closer with open arms and so he obeys. He kisses back after a momentary hesitation, it quickly grows hungry and desperate as the long months of want and desire overtake their actions. 

Q brings a hand up to his cheek and cups the scruffy skin against his soft palm.

He thinks about his father.

It suddenly becomes too much, Schlatt breaks away in a panic and grabs his wrist with enough force to bruise the skin beneath his fingers. Quackity lets out a small yelp in retaliation which immediately forces him to loosen his iron grip and let go.

“Oh shit- I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant to do that-” 

His VP gently rubs the already forming bruises and gives a half hearted smile. “It’s okay man, I know this isn’t easy for you. We can take it as slow as you want, as long as you do want this that is.”

“I do, I really do. I’m just… tired. I haven’t slept in like two days, and a lot of shit has happened in that time.” He runs a hand through his tousled hair and lets out a soft sigh.

“Maybe you should get some rest then Big Guy, and we can try this again later.”

“Will you spend the night with me?”

The smaller man’s face goes a deep red before he looks away in embarrassment, he tugs the brim of his beanie down over his eyes and hides a smile behind a hand. “Yeah, whatever.” He grumbles. 

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Schlatt gets to his feet from his position on the corner of the desk and turns the music off.

“It’ll just be like… a fun sleepover, right?”

He laughs a little bit before tugging Q down the hallway towards his darkened bedroom, every step brings him closer to the warm embrace of sleep. 

His colleague briefly looks around the large room and settles his eyes on the single large mattress. “Should I sleep on the floor or something?” 

“Are you fuckin’ kidding? No, you’re getting in this goddamn bed with me.”

“Promise you won’t wake up and beat the shit out of me in some fit of Catholic guilt?”

Schlatt shoots him a warning glance as he undoes the buttons on his shirt and removes the belt from his slacks. 

“Oh- are we…?” Q trails off.

“No dumbass, but I’m not gonna sleep in my work clothes. Are you?”

He hesitantly begins undressing to his comfort on the opposite side of the room, “good to see you with your usual spunk, I hate when you talk all serious and shit.”

The ram pulls the covers back after stripping down to his boxers and undershirt, he lazes on the bed watching in intense curiosity as more of Quackity’s skin becomes visible. His tan shoulders are kissed with handfuls of freckles, his small frame stands stark against the single lamp illuminating his back while strands of dark hair fall against his neck; it’s like staring into the sky on a summer evening, he’s blinded by the sun and yet he can’t tear his eyes away from the harsh light. He turns to face Schlatt in a white tank top and briefs, his face has somehow gotten redder than before in a painfully adorable blush that covers his cheeks in a rising heat. 

He sighs in content and pats the space next to him on the mattress as a polite invitation, Q carefully gets in bed and wiggles his way under the already warm nest of blankets. 

“Holy shit, you’re a human space heater aren’t you?” His colleague laughs, already appearing a little less nervous.

“What? Are you cold?” He playfully wraps his arms around Quackity and tugs him flush against the warmth of his body. 

They briefly wrestle a bit under the sheets, half heartedly kicking and pulling at one another until Q finally gives in and allows himself to be held against the larger man. There’s a brief moment where they feel like teenage lovers caught in the tangle of fabric and limbs, their chests rise and fall in heavy breaths as they finally calm down from their fits of laughter and banter. Schlatt looks down at the man he’s been avoiding for months on end now, their bodies closer together than they’ve ever been. He stops thinking finally and allows his mind to still, the actions that follow are simply driven by lust and hunger; he kisses Quackity with such desperation and fervor that it almost surprises him. His VP easily gives way to the gesture like putty in his hands. The ram pushes him onto his back and positions himself over his small frame, Q grabs at his hair and around the base of his horns looking for somewhere to hold onto. When he finally breaks away the sight below him is enough to draw out a slight moan in pleasure, Quackity’s eyes are half lidded and glazed with desire, his lips are still parted slightly as his breathing becomes even once more. 

It’s clumsy and fumbling, the love they make to each other. On more than one occasion they have to stop to laugh at the predicaments they find themselves in; at some point Q gets tangled in his boxers and Schlatt accidentally bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw a small bit of blood. They feel younger than they ever have attempting to be as careful as possible and yet still making silly mistakes in the process. It’s the best sex they could've imagined regardless of all the accidents and little missteps, it’s part of the charm, part of the enjoyment in being so comfortable and uninhibited with another person. 

When they’ve cleaned up and crawled back into the tousled sheets he can feel so many familiar but prying eyes upon him, it’s an unforeseen force that worms its way into the open cavity of his chest and once again begins to gnaw at the arteries connecting his heart to the rest of his body. His lover sees the shift in his face, takes notice of the way he closes his eyes trying to shut out all of the shame and grief that begins to wash over his nude body. It’s as though the roof has been lifted from its secure position and a crowd of onlookers have gathered around the sinner who lays before them, he brings balled fists to his face and presses his palms into his eye sockets hard enough for stars to form behind the inky blackness.

And then he cries.

Quackity wraps his arms around the shaking ram and whispers sweet nothings into the softness of his messy hair as he curls into himself attempting to get as small as possible. 

“It’s okay, mi amor, no one is watching. It’s just the two of us.” He presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Schlatt falls asleep to so many soft words and reassurances. It’s almost painful, how loved he feels, despite the guilt that continues to eat him from the inside out.


	10. There Must Be More Than Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy an offering of softness and banter <3 As always, thank you all for your kind words of encouragement and compliments.
> 
> CW for mild sexual content - nothing too spicy.

Quackity lazily rubs the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hands, the room is much colder than he remembers it being when he had gone to bed earlier. He reaches out to the space next to him only to find it empty; a slight panic crawls up to his chest, his heart rate spikes unexpectedly as he sits up and glances around the darkness. The glass doors out to the balcony are wide open while pristine white drapes flutter in the gentle spring breeze, they part enough for Q to catch a glimpse of his lover’s back. He tugs his briefs on and quietly pokes through the dresser to find something warmer to cover his bare shoulders, he settles on a soft wool sweater with a handful of small holes dotting the collar. No way in hell Schlatt will mind if he borrows some old shitty pullover for the night, the guy only dresses in formal wear as is. He wraps his arms around himself in an effort to bring the warm fabric closer to his skin, the night air quietly plays with his hair as he steps out onto the balcony. 

Schlatt leans over the banister resting his forearms on the railing and holds a mostly smoked cigarette in one hand. Quackity steps up next to him and stares out at the distant sea on the horizon, it must be early morning now as the faint green glow of sunrise begins to creep up over the ocean. They stand in silence together for a while; Q turns to look at the quiet man next to him donned in only a crumpled, unbuttoned shirt, and boxers. Even now, even in the dim light of the slowly rising sun, even barely dressed and holding a cigarette, even with unkempt hair, he looks heavenly. He rests his head on Schlatt’s shoulder and sleepily wraps an arm around his bicep, the other man tenses slightly at his touch but quickly relaxes into the soft and unspoken comfort shared between them. 

“What are you doing out here so early?” Q yawns.

His lover finishes the dart off with a final drag. “Not much, just needed some fresh air, had to clear my head.”

“Are you okay?”

It’s silent for a moment too long and Quackity begins to fear that maybe the ram thinks their previous antics were a mistake, like perhaps he’s been pulled back into the familiar guilt and shame he knows all too well, like he’ll decide this was all for naught.

But he finally speaks up.

“Do you remember when I carried you up to your apartment that one time? It was fuckin’ months ago at this point, I wouldn’t blame you if you’d forgotten.”

He recalls his drunken stupor, how Schlatt had been kind enough to walk him home and then take him up to his apartment on his back, the way he longingly listened to the man’s labored breath, the feeling of his lean muscle beneath the thin layers of fabric that separated them. 

“Yeah, of course I remember.”

“I wanted to come into your apartment that night, I wanted to fuck you into the next week. But you were so goddamn tired and fucked up, and I was already exhausted, so I just left.”

Q laughs a little in his sleepy haze. “Didn’t seem that way, you barely even let me get you a glass of water and hardly said goodnight.”

“Yeah, well, I was afraid that if I had to look at your pretty little face for much longer I’d lose my mind.” He wraps an arm around Quackity’s shoulders and pulls him closer. “Why did you never make a move? I left myself wide open on every occasion I could think of praying that maybe you’d be the one to close the gap.” 

“Mm…” He hums and mulls over the months of carefully planned encounters and tentative conversations. “I thought I was going fucking crazy Schlatt, everytime you’d invite me into your office at night and offer me a drink, when you’d sit just a little bit too close… I thought I was imagining all that shit. The tension, the banter, it felt too good to be true. And I was afraid.” He admits finally.

Schlatt glances down at where his lover’s face rests on his shoulder. “You? Scared? I have to laugh, you’re the most annoying little shit head I’ve ever met, you always fight to get your way.”

“Not with you though, I didn’t want to fight for you. I wanted _you_ to want _me._ ”

The ram looks back out to the ever rising sun in embarrassment, face dusted in a light pink blush which coats his cheeks and kisses the skin of his floppy ears. 

He takes this as a sign to continue. “I had a dream about you, months ago.”

“Oh?”

“I was sitting in some weird bar I didn’t recognize and you just fucking appeared next to me, all sweet talk and sugar, you dragged me to a seat near the back of the room and…” A slight heat creeps up his stomach, “you put a hand on the inside of my thigh and said: ‘Don’t you ever think about me the way I think about you?’ And then I woke up. You flustered me even in my dreams, man.”

Schlatt looks like he considers his words for a moment, he nervously bites his lip in thought and finally decides to speak. “I dreamt about you almost every night.” 

“No way.”

“Seriously. Sometimes I would go to bed early so that I could see your face in front of mine, it’s some real fag shit.”

Q chuckles a bit before thinking about more melancholy things, about how Schlatt had cried after they made love the night before, about how guilty and ashamed he looked curled up in his arms. “Will you be okay? To do this, I mean?”

“Yeah. I think I’ll be okay. It’s not going to be instantaneous, but I simultaneously feel both shitter than I have in my entire life and happier than I have in as long as I can remember. Like a weight has been lifted, and it was a goddamn heavy one.” 

He presses a kiss against the fabric beneath where he rests his cheek. “You know you’re not alone, right?”

“Hard to imagine, but yes.”

“Don’t say shit like that, I mean it. I know Tubbo and Fundy are twerps but they care about you too, we’re just some ragtag cabinet trying to make this shit work.”

“I know, I know.”

“Okay, so don’t go bottling up all your feelings until you’re forced to make some lame trip out to a fucked up old church. You scared me to death with that goddamn phone call man.”

There’s a newfound sadness to his voice as he speaks, “do you know why I was calling?”

“I think I have a pretty good idea, and if you ever pull shit like that again I’ll kill you before you can do it yourself.”

Schlatt laughs. “This is what I was talking about, you’re such a fuckin’ shit head.”

“I’ll be a shit head if that’s what it takes to get this stuff through your thick fucking skull you goddamn moron-” 

Before Quackity can finish his heated thought he’s pulled into a harsh kiss, it’s hungry and needy against the chilled skin of his face. Schlatt embraces him as if he wants to eat him whole, like he needs to absorb every bit of warmth radiating off of his now flushed face and devour the quiet noises he makes against the other man’s mouth. The ram snakes his cold hands around his waist and under the soft fabric of his sweater, the touch is enough to drive him mad with desire. They finally part, chests heaving as they gasp for air, they swim in one another long enough to nearly drown. 

“You’re sexy when you get mad.” Schlatt whispers breathlessly.

“Then why don’t we take this inside where I can get more mad at you for cutting me off mid sentence, you prick.” He teases.

“Anything for you, baby.”

It’s weird, almost, how easily the months of pining come crashing down with a surprising softness. He never had expectations for anything to come of it, for it to actually amount to much else besides his own seemingly delusional fantasies; but now here he lays on his back, with the man he’s been staring at from a distance, holding both of his hands flush to the mattress and trailing hungry kisses down his neck with newfound confidence. There’s nowhere else on this God forsaken earth he’d rather be than beneath the warm body of his lover, sheets cast aside, remnants of their half hearted early morning outfits strewn out on the floor. He presses his fingers into the skin of Schlatt’s back and grips his shoulders for dear life, their bodies perform the same delicate dance they had only hours before but this time with much more poise and precision. They’re starved of each other, eager and prepared to push and pull their own soft, forgiving forms, to contort them into whatever shape holds the most of one another. 

The sun’s warm rays peek through the windows and bring late morning light to even the darkest corners of the room; Schlatt is the first to quietly rouse from the sweet embrace of sleep, he pushes himself to a sitting position and glances over at the clock on his nightstand. It’s mid afternoon, nearly half past one, God knows how they managed to sleep through the countless alarms and never be rudely interrupted or woken by one of their more annoying coworkers. When Quackity finally comes to, the ram is quick to press a soft kiss to his lips and whisper a gentle ‘good morning’ before he rises to his feet and starts the shower in the lavish ensuite bathroom. 

He runs a hand through his messy hair and makes note of the time with a bit of panic. “Schlatt!” Q calls into the other room as he rushes to get dressed. “It’s like, almost two, we’re late as fuck.”

“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but I run this place, and I say we take the day off.” He calls back.

He buttons his shirt and pulls his beanie on back to its familiar position. “What about Fundy and Tubbo? I’d feel like a shit coworker if they had to work all day while we play hooky.”

“Then tell them to go home for the day if you’re so worried.”

“Are you sure? Can we really afford to just say ‘fuck it’ and do whatever?”

“You’re never this worried about not working, it’s either cramming to catch up until midnight or going on a date. Your pick, sugar.” 

“Sorry, sorry- did you say a date?”

“Can I just take my shower? Go talk to the twerps and come back in fifteen minutes.” 

“Alright, alright” He raises his hands in defeat even though the other man can’t see it.

He treks down the hallways to the office he almost calls home, given the amount of time he spends in it, and pushes the door open with a small squeak. The second the tiny noise fills the dead air two office chairs roll out from behind their respective desks and collide in the center of the room. Fundy and Tubbo sit side by side with baited breath and curious looks painted on their faces, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Um… Hey?” Quackity rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“So, did you guys fuck?” The fox quickly chimes in and is rewarded with a punch in the arm by his colleague.

Tubbo fills in the blanks for him, “what Fundy is trying to say is that we came looking for Schlatt earlier to ask where you were and… found a rather domestic, and a bit suggestive, looking scene behind his bedroom door.”

“So, care to explain?” 

His cheeks go pink. “Well- I think you basically got the gist of it.”

The two boys let out a mix of joy and disappointment, Fundy stalks back to his desk and digs his wallet out from his work bag before tossing a crumpled twenty dollar bill to Tubbo. 

“I’m sorry, am I seeing this correctly? Did you two- did you make a goddamn bet?”

“Yes.” They both answer in unison.

“I said there was no way in hell you guys would ever get together, and Tubbster said it’d happen before the end of this year. And low and behold, your slutty ass has laid our President.” The fox takes a seat back in his chair that still sits in the middle of the room.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna have to deal with this shit later. I just came to say that you guys could go home for the day.”

“We never get to leave early, what’s the occasion?” Tubbo asks as he begins working to uncrumple his shoddy earnings.

“Ah, um, Schlatt didn’t want to work today.”

“Are you going on a date?” It’s a bit accusatory, but still a question nonetheless.

“Please don’t be weird about this, you guys are so fucking annoying sometimes.”

The duo laugh a bit before pushing their chairs back to their rightful places and packing up their things.

“I’m not going to complain if it means I get extra days off.” Fundy gives him a wink from behind the presumed safety of his desk.

Quackity is quick to grab an eraser off Tubbo’s workspace and chuck the pink rubber towards the fox, he ducks beneath the flying object and plasters another shit eating grin across his sly face. 

“Ya missed, looks like your aim’s getting worse, Big Q. Might wanna work on that.”

“Can you two motherfuckers just get the hell out of here before I change my mind and tell you to stick around?”

“Can’t go back on your word.” Tubbo says from behind him. “It’s already too late now, we’re out of here.”

In a matter of moments they both gather their belongings and head for the door.

“Bye Q, have fun on your date!” The kid calls from over his shoulder and gives a friendly wave.

Quackity half-heartedly offers the same in return and sighs before pinching the bridge of his nose. Those damn two, always giving him shit.


	11. Famous

Schlatt drags him to some dingy little cafe he frequents since it’s out of the way and hardly anyone visits, they order brunch and sit in an obnoxiously teal booth by a window facing the street; the two watch the passer’s by and make snide comments or little jokes to each other while they wait for their food. It’s comfortable and warm, familiar even, to sit across from one another in the rundown restaurant with their hands clasped over the scuffed tabletop. Once in a while Quackity will lightly kick at the ram’s ankles and coerce him into a short game of footsy, it never lasts long since Schlatt tends to kick a little too hard sometimes, but it’s still entertaining in a childish way. He can’t help but stare at the man across from him, now looking much more put together than earlier in the morning, with a stupid grin plastered on his flushed face. 

“What are you starin’ at?” He accuses in a joking manner.

Q rests his cheek against his palm. “Oh, just you.”

His blunt honesty forces his lover to turn away and hide the blush that creeps up to his cheeks behind the menu he holds. Quackity pushes the laminated sheet away with one hand and marvels at the way Schlatt’s ears twitch slightly in embarrassment, he lets out a small huff in defeat and accepts his fate. 

“Don’t make me get all soft and shit in public, I gotta maintain my image.”

“Stop being such a pussy, no one else is here besides us and the waiter.” He pulls the other man’s hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss into his rough palm. The ram immediately melts against the touch and lets himself relax into the warmth of domesticity, the walls only ever come down for a moment but Q cherishes every second of it. 

“I feel like I don’t really know anything about you, ya know?” And it’s true, he only has the slightest idea of who Schlatt is behind the well crafted façade; sure, he knows the guy likes oldies music and a well made drink, but no person is two-dimensional, himself included. 

“Well.” He reclines back against the booth, “what do you wanna know?” 

“Hm… why don’t we start with… your birthday.” 

“You don’t know my birthday?”

Quackity laughs, “do you know mine?”

“Fair.”

They spend the afternoon amicably chatting over their food and discussing old hobbies, past loves, favorite seasons, the list goes on and on. Once the ball gets rolling it’s impossible to stop, neither of them can recall the last time it’s been this easy to open up to another person, to release the proverbial breaks and info dump about anything that comes to mind; they find comfort in one another as they ramble about meaningless old memories, about the places they grew up, about the people they used to know. 

This is the longest he’s ever had the pleasure of speaking to Schlatt without it devolving into talk of politics and business or the ram simply growing tired of their chat and brushing him off entirely. They’ve easily known each other for well over a year at this point but the amount of honest and candid talks they’ve shared is close to none, in fact, they’ve never spent time together outside of a work related environment. So he revels in these moments, in this entire interaction, he soaks up every word and phrase that leaves his lover’s mouth and he can tell that the man across from him does the same when he clasps his hands in focus and devotes all of his attention to the silly stories and anecdotes Quackity tells about his childhood. 

Eventually the streets grow dark, the lamps dotting the sidewalk begin to flicker on and the number of people walking about thins to a trickle. He watches as Schlatt starts to grow tired, the way his shoulders slowly slump, how his posture weakens as he relaxes into his seat more and more. 

“I have one last question before we leave.” 

He opens their tab and slides his credit card into the inner pocket before motioning the waiter over. “I don’t know what else there is to say, but shoot.”

“Who was he?” Q finishes off the last of his water. “Your first love?”

The soft smile that had graced his lips falls away. “You don’t wanna know.”

“I do, but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

Schlatt sighs and props an elbow on the table before leaning a cheek against his palm. “It’s not like it’s some top secret information, it’s just…” He trails off and looks out the window as a mix of sadness and anger seem to cloud his gaze.

“It’s really okay, you don’t have to dig up shitty memories for me if it’s sensitive.”

The other man breaks his trance at last. “Why don’t I take you home?”

Quackity nods and stands from the same place they’ve been chatting all day, the air between them hangs thick and tense with old unaired grievances. The ram politely holds the door open for him and links their arms as they amble through the empty streets, he’s not mad at Q, he knows that, but the emotions on his face are nearly unreadable. 

At some point he wiggles his arm out from Schlatt’s and instead locks their fingers in a warm display of affection, they gently swing their hands back and forth as they walk along the sidewalk. The duo cut through a small park and marvel at the arrival of fireflies, their tiny bodies flickering in the darkness as the beginning of summer melts away the tail end of spring. He stares up at the night sky and points out the few constellations he can remember, his lover fills in the blanks where his memory has faded and, although he clearly knows more, allows him to show off his limited knowledge. 

The comfortable evening finally winds down the closer to his place they get and he dreads having to fall asleep in his empty bed once more. 

“He went to school with me.” Schlatt suddenly speaks up as they near his apartment building.

He stops them in their tracks and faces the ram with patient, sympathetic eyes. “Do you wanna come up and talk?.” 

He nods and allows himself to be dragged up the many flights of stairs to Quackity’s darkened apartment. As always, he fumbles with his keys for a moment before unlocking the door and continuing the pattern of tossing his belongings onto the kitchen table. He flicks on the lamp in the open living space before sitting on his worn leather couch and patting the space next to him. Schlatt takes his jacket off and drapes it over the back of a chair before taking a seat, he carefully readjusts to lay his head in Q’s lap and closes his eyes to concentrate on retelling the story as accurately as possible. 

“He was on the swim team. I wasn’t, for the record, but I stayed after school a lot just hanging around. I didn’t like being at home.” 

Quackity gently begins playing with the thick locks of hair that fall around his horns and onto his forehead.

“Anyways, I saw him everyday at the pool practicing, even on days when no one else was. And I remember thinking that maybe he didn’t like being at home either. I was walking back to my place one evening and he caught up to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders like we had known each other for ages even though we had never even talked before.” He takes a deep breath to settle the soft lilt that’s taken over his usually steady voice. “And then we started walking together every day, we’d talk about everything and nothing at the same time, I think I knew that he was the same as me, that we both had something we couldn’t tell each other out of self preservation.” 

“That you liked one another?”

He gives a small nod. “Yeah, that. One day we were sitting on the porch at my house and he was resting his head on my shoulder, nothing crazy, but my dad pulled up in our old beat up truck and jumped out of the car when it had barely even stopped. He just started screaming, calling us faggots and chasing this kid off our property in a blind rage. We weren’t even doing anything, but he knew, just by looking at us he knew. I remember thinking, does everyone know that easily, do they see us together, call up to God and curse us for our sins?”

Quackity quietly takes one of his now shaking hands in his own. “And then what happened?”

“They found him face down in the pool the next morning. He left a note in my locker confessing his love for me, and I burnt it behind the shed in my backyard the same day.” He opens his eyes at last and looks up at him with a pained expression. “Am I a bad person? Do you think I’m going to Hell?”

Q sweeps the hair off his forehead before leaning down and planting a soft kiss on his warm skin. “No, I don’t think you’re a bad person, and wherever you go I promise I’ll come with.”

He squeezes his hand with tears in his eyes. “Thank you.” It’s barely a whisper.

They fall asleep on the couch that night, neither men bother to undress past kicking their shoes off near the coffee table. Quackity lays on top of Schlatt’s chest like a weighted blanket, the other man’s arms wrap around his waist and rest on the small of his back; the warmth between their connected bodies is intoxicating. Almost none of their skin is touching and yet they’ve never felt closer, the rhythmic rising and falling of their chests against one another lulls them to the quiet depths of rest. 

In the morning they make breakfast and sit at the island counter reading the news in comfortable silence, Q munches on buttered toast and the ram makes himself bacon and eggs on the stove. He thinks about the light and laughter he so often envies within the walls of his friends’ homes, the love they share with their significant others and how frequently he wishes he could have that; is that what he has right now? Is this moment, which has already ingrained itself in his mind, one of many more to come? The long months of waiting and hopelessly pining once again dawn on him, how easily they fall away into mere memory, nothing more than an aching pain he can begin to forget as they fan their newly kindled flame.

He stands from his seat and presses a kiss into his lover’s back before wrapping his arms around him, Schlatt quietly chuckles and turns around into the sudden embrace.

“Something the matter, princess?”

“No.” He muffles into the fabric pressed against his face. “I just don’t want this moment to end.”

So they stand unmoving in front of the stove top until it starts to smell like burning meat and rotten eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last thanks to everyone for their support, comments and kudos. I look forward to seeing familiar faces in the future!


End file.
